


Her Foundation and Her Sword

by tanaleth (elavellan)



Series: Immutable [4]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Chickens, Dorks in Love, Established Relationship, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Post-Canon, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Postpartum Depression, Pregnancy and Childbirth, References to Addiction, Tranquil Surana (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2020-10-20 13:34:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20676221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elavellan/pseuds/tanaleth
Summary: The Inquisition reshaped both their lives. Now that it's ending, Lysette and Adan need to find a new path for the future—hopefully together. But there are always demons to fight, and not all of them are the sort that fall from the sky.Sequel toSee Fire and Go Towards Light.





	1. Make Me to Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Endings, beginnings, all that.

O Maker, hear my cry:  
Guide me through the blackest nights.  
Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked.  
Make me to rest in the warmest places.

_—Transfigurations 12:1_

Lysette couldn't sleep.

That wasn't unusual, these days. Lyrium had a way of making your dreams vague and forgettable. Less frequent, more distant when you woke. With less and less of the substance in her blood—and then, finally, with none at all—that effect disappeared. So it was late at night that temptation gnawed at her most insidiously. What good was she to the Inquisition like this? What good was she to anyone?

She rolled to the side, being careful not to tug at the blankets, and examined the man sleeping next to her. _He_ seemed to find some good in her still. She hoped that would remain the case now that the Inquisition was coming to an end.

She couldn't see in the dark. She'd heard elves could. Adan had never shown any particular aptitude for it himself. Still, the light from the window behind the bed was just enough to let her trace his profile with her eyes, to see from the twitch of his beard that he still breathed. Foolish, but reassuring when he lay so still.

Then he let out a faint snore and rolled away from her. Lysette smiled in spite of herself. That was reassuring, too.

The wind whistled over the battlements. She turned onto her back and tried to will herself unconscious. It didn't work.

Rumors had flown out of Halamshiral faster even than ravens could carry the news. Upon being challenged, the Inquisitor had dropped her power and her title and closed the book on the Inquisition.

It left Lysette feeling strangely bereft. It was good that they'd accomplished their mission. But she'd had… for a time she'd had the luxury to work and fight for a cause she believed in, for leaders she trusted, with the man she loved at her side. Now, all of that would vanish—except the last, she hoped—and only the Maker knew what she'd do without His driving cause to guide her.

Sleep seemed less and less likely. So she sat up and slipped from the bed. Stone chilled her feet through her stockings as she padded to the window to peer into the darkened garden beyond. After a moment, she opened the door to step out onto the balcony.

The moons were hidden behind the clouds, but they lent a soft glow to the empty garden. Skyhold had been abuzz with excitement earlier in the day with tramping horses and people everywhere talking about the news from the Exalted Council. But it was a strange, farewell sort of excitement. This place, this community, had been through so much together. The Inquisition that had changed Thedas had changed them, too. And now the courtyards were empty and dark.

Across the battlements, torchlight gleamed off the armor of the sentries at the door of the templar tower. They'd all be leaving soon, those who hadn't already joined Knight-Commander Barris at the White Spire, but Lysette wouldn't be going with them.

Nor would she join the Seekers like some of her old friends had done. That wasn't for her. But she yearned for the purpose the Chantry had given her at the same time as she reviled it. And if that was her attitude, would she ever be content again?

In some ways—no, she wouldn't. The ache for the lyrium, for that song and that connection, would never truly leave her. But the rest of it wasn't so hopeless. There were other things in life. Other ways to serve.

She just didn't know what they were quite yet.

* * *

There was the slightest tinge of gold to some of the leaves of the trees in Skyhold's garden. A faintly biting breeze blew a few of last autumn's dry leaves over the empty courtyard, and that was it. No Orlesian nobles, no aggravating chanters, no runners tugging at sleeves or assistants quarrelling over chores.

Adan straightened, twisting a dry stalk between his fingers, and studied the empty beds before him. Mostly empty, anyhow: the embrium would keep on going until the snows came, but there was no need to do anything about it. Everything else was tidied up or bundled away or transplanted to pots that might or might not ever see a new home. It was done. Nothing left for him to fuss over. 

He folded his arms against the chill in the air. It was a pity to leave this place after all the work they’d put into it. And it nagged at him that he'd never found satisfactory answers to certain questions he'd had since the beginning.

_"So you're back," he said, as casually as he could manage. "Is the area secure?" _

_Lysette replied, "As secure as it needs to be. How's the garden?" _

_"It's not even been a fortnight." Adan lifted a brow. "Either you've got remarkable confidence in my abilities or you're mocking me."_

_"Or both." Her expression was serene._

_He stifled a laugh. "I'm flattered. I think. But no, it'll be a bit longer before we're back on our feet." _

_Adan leaned back over the plot he was staking out, but he was painfully aware of Lysette's presence. She stood a few feet away with her arms crossed as she studied the worn stone plinth._

_She noticed him watching her and turned. "Do you know what this was?" she asked, gesturing at the plinth. _

_"No. Been trying to figure it out, though. Look—some of this is Tevinter, like this wall here—see those stones?" Adan stood up, brushing his hands vaguely on the front of his robes, and strode forward. He bent to tap a loose stone in the wall. "But this, this is elven."_

_"How can you tell the difference? They look exactly the same." _

_"Studied it," he admitted as he looked up at her. Her eyes were narrow, as focused as ever, and those full lips were set in a serious line. Adan shook himself and continued, "A lot of the old stuff they copied straight from the elves. It's easier to tell with the modern styles." He ran a finger over the weathered stone. Her gaze followed the movement. She must really have been curious; Lysette wasn't a woman to make idle conversation just for the sake of avoiding silence. _

_It _was_ interesting. Puzzling, really, how such a place had come to be here atop a bloody mountain. And how none of them had known about it before. _

_But when Lysette uncrossed her arms and took a seat next to him on one of the benches, Adan found his questions about the architecture slipping away._

And now their time here was coming to an end. Some mysteries, it seemed, weren't his to answer.

Sentimental rubbish. He'd moved on so many times before. There was no call to feel nostalgic now.

But what would come of this place when they were all gone? He knew it wouldn't be fully abandoned—the Chantry had appointed a steward of some sort—but a steward wasn't a gardener.

It gave him a nasty sort of fidgety feeling. An anxious almost-ache in his chest. Now that it was done, he'd just as soon… go. Leave it behind him, one more place in the string of abandoned places that littered his past. Lingering around now felt wrong, like building a pyre and failing to light it.

This place was different. And he was reminded of the most significant reason why it was different when she sidled up and slipped her arm through his.

"Hey," he said to Lysette. One thing hadn't changed since those first days in the garden, and that was the tendency of his thoughts to vanish into the Void upon seeing her.

"Hello," she said simply.

"All official?"

"Yes. I've got my leaving papers. Discharge and permission to depart with my new husband.”

"Andraste's arse, what happened to the old one?"

She gave him a smug look and he snorted, wrapping an arm around her shoulders to pull her closer. After ample practice, he'd gotten the trick of avoiding the spikiest bits of her armor—although she might not be wearing _that _armor for much longer.

Funny to picture Lysette in the guise of a Denerim city guard. But it seemed as good a starting point for their new life as any… at least on paper.

He had an idea or two of why she wasn't sleeping.

—

Rachelle came by to inform him of a summons from the Inquisitor. His last assistant had come back from Caer Bronach some months before, mercifully enough, since he'd needed the help at the time. Pella was already gone, off home to Antiva with—to Adan’s faint surprise—Minaeve in tow. With one or two of the Circles open again, he’d expected Minaeve to be first in line to go back.

Well, he’d done stranger things for a woman, Adan mused as he climbed the stairs to the Inquisitor’s quarters. Some of them in this very tower.

Her Worship was seated on the divan by the fire with a chair pulled up alongside. The remains of her tea were spread out on a small table before her. She didn't bother to rise to meet him, or offer him any refreshments of his own, but he knew that was less a show of power than of fatigue.

In fact, Adan knew Ellana Lavellan fairly well by now. They'd gotten into the habit of regular chats when she was at Skyhold. Somewhere along the way he'd grown rather fond of the woman. Despite the Dalish mannerisms that read as standoffish to shemlen eyes, she was a friendly sort. The strains of the last few years still showed in the set of her narrow shoulders, but since the council, her face was less grim than it had been. Despite everything.

"How goes the dismantling?" she asked him.

"Just finished in the garden. And I've got my tools from the shop mostly packed up for… wherever we wind up going." He frowned.

"Still no plans, then?" She leaned back on the cushions and eyed him wearily.

"Nothing solid," he admitted. "We could set up in Denerim. I've got the workshop, and Lysette's been talking about applying to the city guard. Not sure it's… ideal, but we've got to start somewhere."

"Neither of you have accepted a new post?"

"No, not yet."

"Hmm." She turned her head to look out the window over the mountains. "I've had word from Cassandra—"

Adan blinked. "Are you still allowed to call her that?"

"Probably not." She grinned faintly and turned back to Adan. "Don't tell Cullen."

"Won't."

Ellana tipped her head. "Is Lysette well?"

"Yes. I think so. Thanks."

"How well, exactly?" She rested her chin on her hand and gave him a thoughtful look.

"How…? Not sure what you mean."

"No. I'm not explaining this very well, am I?" She rustled around with her right hand on the table for a moment, picking up a scroll from a tray that seemed to have held scones in the recent past. Something crumby, anyway. "Here."

"You're not explaining much of—beg pardon." He took the parchment she handed him and peered at it. An elaborate seal, formal script in what was certainly not the Divine's own hand, a messy scrawl of a signature that probably was. "A land deed in Ferelden?"

"Yes." The Inquisitor stretched and leaned back. "I've got a proposal for you."

—

Adan's brows rose as she explained. "I'll need to talk this over with Lysette," he said.

"Of course." She nodded and her smile returned, if only to the corners of her eyes. "I can't imagine she'd appreciate you making the decision for her."

"Neither can I," he muttered. He held up the parchment. "This is from the Divine. Does she have the authority to grant out part of the”—he squinted at the deed—"Arling of Redcliffe?"

“She’s the Divine,” she said with a face slightly too smooth to be anything other than sarcastic. “But yes, actually. If you read carefully, you’ll see that the appropriate individuals have all agreed. The place was a holiday home that the owners hadn’t used it in years.”

Adan snorted. "Who in blazes has a holiday home in the Fereldan hinterlands?"

"The Guerrin family." Ellana’s lips twitched. “Since I cleared out the bandits who took up residence in the interim, there’s an argument to be made that it’s rightfully mine anyhow.”

"Right. Well. That's a very interesting plan you've got there. Thank you, Inquisit—ah—"

"Ellana," she said with a flicker of her gray eyes that came suspiciously close to rolling them. "Please, Creators, allow me a retirement where people call me by my name."

"You'll be comfortable living among templars? Even former templars?"

"I've been doing it for three years already." She glanced out the window in the direction of the templar tower. "And returning to my clan is not an option. But you wouldn't need to live in the villa, if you prefer to keep your distance. It's a day's ride south of Redcliffe, and there isn't much in between but a few farms, but I'm sure we could find you something."

"It sounds quiet."

"It is." She sighed. "Blessedly so."

—

The tavern was half empty. But this, at least, would be running until the very end. Cabot was wiping down a table nearby, looking a bit sour about the lack of customers.

Lysette, Maker bless her, looked delighted and more than a bit relieved when he told her of the Inquisitor's offer.

"A sanctuary? What would I do, exactly?"

"They'll need people to oversee the patients. Lead exercises. All that sort of thing you're so bloody good at. Her Worship didn't say it, but I imagine the templars will appreciate having some of their own there to encourage them. If you're feeling—ah—up to it?"

"I think I am," she said thoughtfully. "It's true I haven’t been off the lyrium completely for long, but… I think I could do it. Yes.”

They left the tavern and strolled up the hill, coming to a halt on the stairs of the great hall. Lysette was quiet, evidently thinking over the idea he'd presented to her.

"What about you?" she asked him.

"All that work I did for Cullen"—_and you_, although he didn’t say it out loud—"might come in handy again. Won’t keep me from my research any more than the Inquisition did.” He snorted, thinking of some of his past jobs. “Less than going into service with some bloody monarch or other, that’s for damn sure."

"I thought you were glad to be done working with Cullen.”

“I’ve nothing against the man,” he said shortly. Which wasn't entirely true. Adan had learned more than he wanted to know about the commander’s interest in Neria, all those years ago, and… for all it was in the past, it wasn't like a person could forget about something like that. But they'd come to a tacit truce in the name of the Inquisition and for the sake of the Inquisitor, and that was that.

As long as Neria was abroad. Adan felt a pang of distress at the thought they'd likely never have a visit from her—not if they settled at a bloody templar sanctuary.

But she probably wouldn't have visited him anyway.

"I like the idea," said Lysette, taking a seat on the step to face the quiet courtyard.

"So do I." He sat at her side. "It'll be some time before they'll be ready to start up properly, of course. Probably be springtime before either of us is needed."

Lysette frowned. "We're almost finished here, and it’s only Kingsway. What will we do in the meantime?"

"Whatever we like."

She stared at him as if he'd grown another head. The notion of 'free time' was not, it seemed, in Lysette's repertoire. Not that it was his specialty either.

“I should... if we have the time…" He trailed off, scratching his beard, and glanced at Lysette. Her gaze was open and curious as she looked at him. Trusting.

So he took the gamble.

"Do you want to meet my mother?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adan and Lysette aren't the only ones who have trouble letting go!
> 
> I'd planned to write a few post-Trespasser vignettes for them, but the scenes started looking suspiciously… chronological, and the next thing I knew, there was an outline. This isn't likely to be a long fic, and there will be some time jumps, but I hope you'll enjoy revisiting these two as much as I do.


	2. The Walls of Their City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Denerim, part 1.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still here! Still writing! Apparently writing three fics is slower than writing one (who knew?).

The army of the faithful  
gathered before the gates of the city  
Wept openly. And from among them voices raised  
In threnody for Andraste wreathed in flame.

_—Andraste 2:7_

Woodsmoke drifted over fields of ripening barley as they rode east through the valleys of Ferelden. The sun was sinking behind them, throwing long shadows on the road ahead; the old Tevinter paving stone of the Imperial Highway was half-buried, beaten hard into the earth by generations of horses and oxen. Their own horses’ hooves added to the count as Lysette pulled her horse up alongside Adan’s and glanced at him.

They'd been married two summers ago, but this was the first time they'd traveled alone together. Adan had made the trip alone last spring, but it was a long journey and Lysette's duties to the Inquisition had kept her from accompanying him. Now she had no such convenient excuse.

At least they had horses. Most of the soldiers were trickling out of Skyhold on foot. In truth, Lysette and Adan weren’t traveling entirely alone. It wasn't the same as traveling with an army on campaign, but others had set out for Denerim at the same time as Lysette and Adan had. They’d shared a camp with others from the Inquisition more than once.

But she missed Hector as much or more than she did her other comrades-in-arms. Dennet had returned to his retirement and taken his horses with him; even poor lazy Guimauve was a better traveler than either of the rounceys they'd bought for the journey. As they traveled, Lysette had dismounted often to walk, both stretching her legs and giving the weary animal a reprieve. Meanwhile, she’d caught Adan reading from the saddle more than once when he thought she wasn’t looking. But there was no hurry; the way was clear and the weather was fine enough for Ferelden.

Adan appeared to be suffering the downgrade in mounts even more than she, and more so as the days went on. He was shifting uncomfortably in the saddle as she caught his eye.

"I've taken smoother journeys by sea in the stormy season," he muttered.

"Not by horse, surely. You're not much of a rider."

"Tactful, that's my girl.” He grimaced. “Never got near a horse until I was near grown. Nobody where I came from had anything bigger than a goat.”

“Sorry.”

Adan only shrugged. "Got to learn at the palace. Spent the first couple of years there sleeping above the stables, so it’d be a pity if I hadn’t."

"You didn't stay at home when you trained?"

He shot her a quick glance but returned his attention to the road before Lysette could interpret his expression. "Wasn't practical. Hey, you—damnable beast—"

"Don't tug.” She resisted the urge to reach for his reins. “You’re hurting her mouth like that. There’s no need. Let her have her head."

"Hmph." But he slackened the reins and gave the chestnut mare an apologetic pat on the neck. The mare, in response, turned and nipped at his hand.

“Well, that was just bloody rude, you miserable—”

Lysette rode ahead and left him to it.

—

With the seasons changing, dusk was falling by the time they turned to their destination. It was a small village but, at less than a day's ride from Denerim, a common stopping place for travelers seeking lodgings. Once this area had held a monastery with a large guest house. The monastery was long gone now, nothing but ash and crumbled stone, but in its stead the local tavern had expanded into a public inn. Torchlight illuminated the sign over the door.

"The Impertinent Goose?” Lysette read aloud. From the illustration above the letters, she guessed the inn's owners were less pious than their predecessors.

“If it’s got proper beds, I don’t care what it’s called.” Adan dismounted and stretched his shoulders. "Getting cold, isn't it?"

The chestnut mare huffed loudly, as tired of traveling as her rider, while one of the inn’s stablehands approached. The lad greeted them casually enough as he took their reins, but glanced back at Adan as she led the horses to the stables. His eyes lingered on Adan—no, not on him, Lysette realized. On his robes.

Circle insignia or no, those robes didn't usually draw any undue attention. It was a common enough style of dress. If anything, it was Lysette’s armor that usually drew eyes. But the two of them in combination had a certain... look. 

The attention hadn’t escaped Adan. "Probably thinks you're guarding me," he muttered.

"Aren't I?" Lysette asked as she adjusted her pack and turned to the door.

Adan glared at her, hoisting his own pack over his shoulders. "No."

"Hmm."

"If we do go to see my mother, you'd best leave off the heavy plate. It makes people nervous."

"What? I hadn't thought…” She turned to stare at him, her mind going a bit blank. “I can't very well go about the city unarmed."

"Most people do," he pointed out.

“Maker.” Lysette paused on the steps. "You're right, of course. I'm a civilian now. I can't very well go into the alienage armed and armored. I hadn't thought we'd actually—am I _allowed_ there, Adan?"

"Allowed and welcome.” He rested a hand on her arm. “At least to my family, I promise you. Can't speak for anyone else. But you're a brave girl. You'll be fine.”

Now it was her turn to glare at him.

* * *

The tavern was busy, crowded with merchants making their last trip before from the winter. A minstrel sang a bawdy song that grated in Lysette's ears and the innkeeper greeted them only hurriedly, but that seemed the normal order of business here. It wasn't long before they were settled down to dinner.

Adan had fallen silent. To all appearances he was focused on the uninspiring plate of food before him, but Lysette suspected that his mind was elsewhere.

"Where will we stay?" she asked.

"Hm?" It took a moment for his gaze to turn her way. She'd been right about his attention. "Upstairs, don't you think? Unless you feel like keeping the horses company."

"I meant when we get to Denerim."

"Oh." Adan's brows lowered. "Yeah. Assuming you don't want to room with any of our respective relations—"

"I do not."

"Nor I. Well, I've got some friends in the city, but no one I'd want to impose on—or impose on you, come to that."

"We can afford to rent lodgings. I'd rather do that."

"Right, then. We head for another inn and see what's available for a longer stay. Any preferences where?"

"No."

Adan gave her a skeptical look, but let it go.

It was true, she told herself a bit uncomfortably. She didn't prefer any area of the city in particular. There simply happened to be some areas she preferred _less._

"We don't have to spend the whole time in Denerim, you know," Adan added, nudging his tankard to the edge of the table. "Have you ever been to Amaranthine? Or we could get on a boat—winter in the Free Marches." His tone was carefully casual and Lysette bit back her frustration. He was so often oblivious—why couldn't he be oblivious about this? It wasn’t the prospect of meeting her mother-in-law that had her on edge.

"I don't want to go to Amaranthine or the Free Marches," she said, determined not to let her nerves get the better of her. “We keep to the plan. We go to Denerim, we visit our families, and go on to Redcliffe in the new year." She tried not to count the days to the new year.

"Right, then." Adan shot her half a grin. "The Free Marches are bloody awful, anyway."

* * *

Meris woke with the dawn. That was better than it might have been, considering the days were already growing short. She'd slept lightly and might well have found herself twiddling her thumbs in the dark with hours before the sun rose, which would have been a damnable waste of time.

The flagstones were cold, even through her stockings, when she slipped into the kitchen to light the fire. She put on the kettle, set a dish outside for the cats, and went about her morning. Just another morning like any other—whatever the note on the table might say.

If she chose to spend that morning scrubbing the cold flagstones more than was strictly necessary, it was no one's business but hers.

It was midday when the knock came. By that point, Meris was sitting by the fire and twiddling her thumbs after all. She leapt to her feet, and for once she hardly felt the pain in her knees as she moved briskly across the room. All her concentration was on the door she swung open on a pair of figures standing in the garden.

One of them was her son. For a moment, Meris didn't care who else was there. Her boy was here and he was well. "Adan," was all she could say as he stepped forward to give her a quick hug. _Damn it. _She really was becoming a sentimental old fool.

As Adan stepped back, Meris finally took in the shemlen woman at his side. Dark hair, olive skin, athletic frame—tall, but not inordinately so—the way she held herself made her look taller. She held herself like a soldier... or a templar.

Adan looked half sheepish, half defensive. "My wife," he said—as if that was all he had to say—and bounded on past Meris up the stairs.

Gracious as ever, her lad.

The human woman stayed where she was and looked stolidly up at Meris. She was a pretty thing, in that fierce sort of way, and Meris felt her heart clench a little.

"Well, come in," she said gruffly.

* * *

Over the high alienage wall, the tapered thatched roofs of the market district were just visible. For a moment, it was as if Lysette had just arrived all over again. The air that filled her lungs was that of a damp Fereldan autumn, just the same as that autumn long ago, before there had been so much as a whisper of "Blight" on the wind.

She tried not to stare at the pointed ears of the people they passed. She tried not to wonder which of them were related to her husband. She received little more than a cursory look in return, but she kept her gaze alert and her back straight as they walked on.

At least, she did until Adan elbowed her. “You’ll frighten the children.”

That was not reassuring. "I didn’t bring my sword," she said, annoyed. She was used to taking up space. People usually got out of her way—or they had when she was a templar. What was she now, in this place? It was all so bloody uncomfortable.

"Just don't look so—" He broke off, giving her a sidelong glance. "Ah, I don't suppose you can help it. Come on."

"What—"

But he'd already strode forward.

And there she was. Lysette couldn’t quite make sense of her at first. She really was an elf. Large brown eyes, greying hair ruthlessly coiled into a knot at the back of her head, skin a few shades darker than her son's… and those pointed ears. But from the easy affection of their embrace, there was no question that the two were related.

"My wife," said Adan, gesturing vaguely back at Lysette. She inclined her head, feeling as awkward as if she were thirteen again. How could someone so much shorter make her feel like a child with just a look?

Meris looked Lysette up and down briefly. "Hm," was all she said. "Well, come in, then."

Lysette turned her eyes to Adan in some desperation, but he was already halfway up the steps. So she lifted her chin and followed him through the narrow doorway. Everything was so cramped: but they emerged into a large kitchen, sunlight and air streaming through the south window, and she could breathe a bit easier.

It was a tidy place. That window was as much of a luxury as the lace-edged curtains that framed it. Not an expensive trim, but respectable; it looked like something the lacemaker two blocks from her father's house would have sold. Maybe it _was _from that shop. This was still Denerim, after all.

The round table was big enough for three, but just barely. Lysette took the seat that was offered without a word.

"Tea," Meris said shortly, placing a cup in front of her and another in front of Adan. Then she slid a jar across the table. “Biscuits.” And she turned away to stoke the fire.

“Your home is lovely,” Lysette said. She picked up the tea just as Adan's mother returned to the table and sat down.

"How was the journey?" asked Meris.

"Too bloody long," grunted Adan.

The elven woman folded her hands and leaned back, eyeing Lysette as speculatively as she had outside on the step. "Tell me about yourself," she said.

"Hasn't Adan—" Lysette looked between mother and son, but the latter only shrugged at her.

"I want to hear it from you. How did you come to be a templar?" 

Lysette set down her cup. "It seemed the right thing to do. My family are tradesfolk here. I could have become a cobbler like my father, but the Order seemed better."

"Was it?"

"I don't know."

Meris unfolded her hands and reached for the biscuits. Lysette lifted the lid of the jar for her.

"Thanks. What are you doing, boy?"

Adan was peering out the window. At his mother's address, he dropped the curtain and turned back to the table. “Did you know the hahren moved?” he asked. “What was wrong with her old house?”

Meris lifted a brow. “Mold, I think. Why shouldn’t she?”

He leaned back and frowned, crossing his arms. “Andraste’s arse, every time I come here something’s different.”

“I'd think you'd be used to it by now. Do you know how many times I’ve seen this place all but demolished?” She shook her head at him, not inviting Lysette into the conversation but not excluding her from it, either. “I’m older than most of these buildings.”

“Well, you’re immortal, so that hardly counts.”

Meris snorted and turned to Lysette. Evidently the time for reminiscence was over.

“Well, here we are, then. Ser Lysette—you don't use our name, do you?” At Lysette’s brief shake of the head, Meris went on. “I don’t know that I’m qualified to welcome you to the family, but you’re welcome in my home.” She had that accent of the alienage, but her voice was clear and steady.

“Thank you,” Lysette said carefully. “But there's no need for titles."

“Hm. Well, then. I’m Meris Surana. I presume you know _his _name.” She nodded at Adan.

“Blast it, Mamae, that reminds me. I've got to run and see Bel.”

Meris turned to stare at him. “Are you serious?” she asked, vocalizing Lysette’s thoughts perfectly.

“Better sooner than later. I won’t be long. Just don’t kill one another, eh?”

To Lysette's surprise, he bent and kissed his mother on the cheek, then dropped a hand on her own shoulder before ducking back out of the room. The front door slammed shut behind him, leaving an awkward silence in the small house.

The silence lengthened and the fire cracked as the women eyed one another. A faint memory came back to Lysette, her mother's insistence on bringing a gift—Maker guide her, Lysette had no idea what was expected. Adan hadn't mentioned anything. And this was _his _mother, wasn't it?

"He's never been very gracious," said Meris with a wry twist to her lips. "Probably my fault."

Lysette's own lips twitched at that. "I’m sure that’s not true."

Meris waved a hand. "So. A cobbler's daughter.”

“That’s right. My father has a shop in the market.” Or he had done the last time she’d heard. They’d set out from Skyhold without an answer to her last letter. She’d sent a message from their new lodgings, but of course there wouldn’t have been time for a response yet.

"You were here during the Blight?"

"Yes,” said Lysette, rather more curtly than she intended. “Were you?"

“Yes. But I was born here. Why didn't you go back where you came from? Join the army?"

"Why would I?" Lysette blinked. The woman's expression was worthy of a Knight-Captain. An unusually disciplinary-minded Knight-Captain.

Her tension wasn't lost on Meris, who sighed. "I'm not going to eat you. I just want to understand why my son would go and marry…" She gestured in Lysette's direction with one hand. "You."

Lysette almost laughed. "You'll have to ask him that."

Despite the rudeness of the questions, she found herself beginning to relax. The woman's manner might be abrupt, but she could deal with abruptness. She could deal with outright hostility, if it came to that. Anything other than flattering insincerity.

"I always knew he'd leave," Meris said, finally breaking her gaze and glancing aside. "Leave here, that is, and live among your people. As one of your people."

Lysette nodded uncertainly. What in the Void was the woman expecting her to say?

"You've seen his face,” she said matter-of-factly, leaning her elbows on the table and turning her keen gaze back to Lysette. “It wasn't safe for him here, after a while.” Her lips thinned. "Is he safe with you?"

_"What?" _

"Don't mistake me. He's a grown man. I know he can look after himself—at least better than when he was just a lad. But... a mother hopes..." She trailed off and cleared her throat, but was still watching Lysette closely. The curtains swayed behind her and Lysette could see Adan trudging his way back up through the garden. “Tell me, truly.”

"I hope so," Lysette said, and meant it. 

As she examined the woman across the table from her, in the lines around her large eyes, Lysette saw a glimpse of anxiety that mirrored her own. And that, in return, answered some of her own questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every time I think I've exhausted every bit of Adan and Lysette's canon dialogue, I find an opportunity to squeeze in just _one_ more line. 
> 
> I spent entirely too long scratching my head over how to organize the Denerim chapter until I realized it works better as two or three rather vignette-y chapters. Most of the next is already written, so you can expect some Adan POV in short order. (After that, my other stories are due for updates!) 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with this. :)


	3. Scars Beyond Counting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If there's one thing I'm known for, it's the subtlety of my chapter titles.

Adan felt vaguely guilty about leaving the two women to stare at one another like so many strange cats, but he really did have an errand to run.

Also, he was a bloody coward.

He barely glanced around as he made his way across the square. It was all as familiar as the air he breathed. Dogs barking, chickens clucking. Laundry hanging out to dry in the brief pause between rain showers—or else left out to dry a second time, if the occupants had failed to take it in.

The door to the infirmary was open slightly, but Adan used his shoulder to shove it far enough open to pass through. Everything was a little too small here, and he was too big to shimmy through gaps like a cat. Besides, he had his hands full.

There was an elven man standing at the counter with his profile to the door. Weighing out powdered something-or-other, by the look of it. He balanced the scale with a crisp but miniscule flick of his hand just as the door slammed behind Adan.

"Hey, Bel."

His cousin looked up. Adan was taken aback at just how grey his hair had gone since the last time they'd seen one another. That had been shortly after the elder Surana had died and Neria had left for the Marches, and it seemed the intervening year and a half had worn heavily on Belaeth.

"Oh. Hey."

Adan deposited his cargo on the counter, and Belaeth began picking through it at once. "Excellent. I needed one of these…"

The bulk of the Inquisition's leftover stores had been sent here, and with Her Worship's blessing at that. Even so, some things were best delivered in person—such as the array of cutting and extracting implements that had filled Adan's saddlebags all the way from Skyhold.

"Funny how things turn out, eh?" said Bel as he examined a scalpel. "I remember how you used to sneer at the idea of _applied_ _work—"_

Adan almost winced. "No need to revisit old times. Things been all right here?"

"No worse than usual. What's this I heard about oxmen at the council?"

"Wasn't there," said Adan grudgingly, "but I'll tell you what I know."

They chatted for a while, exchanging news and information back and forth, with the same cautious distance that was typical to their interactions these days. There was still a staff leaning against the wall. Adan examined it without touching the polished wood. Not as much a risk as it would have been, once, holding on to such a thing. Still not something you'd want the city guard to find.

"Wasn't she going to send for that?"

"She hasn't." Bel shrugged, shooting the staff a look of dislike. "I should put the fucking thing away, but Maker knows what it'll do by itself."

"Nothing. Even with the runes. Takes a mage to use a staff. Can I see?"

"Be my bloody guest. Lady's ass, take the thing with you. Don't want the kids to mess with it."

"Doubt my wife would appreciate that.”

Belaeth shot him a sharp look, but didn’t comment further. Adan only shook his head.

It was true, though, that Lysette probably wouldn't appreciate his bringing a mage's weapon along. And if people had mistaken them for a mage and templar already, it seemed unwise to lend further to the impression. But still his hand drifted forward of its own volition to tap the glowing head of the weapon, and his thoughts drifted from his wife to his cousin.

"She hardly needs this to do magic, anyhow," Adan murmured. "Did you ever see her casting?"

"No, thank the Maker," said Neria's brother emphatically, setting down the final scalpel. All had passed inspection, it seemed. "So. Heard you're here with that wife of yours."

"Yeah," said Adan, looking back at the staff, but he could see Bel from the corner of his eye.

"How'd _you_ come to have one of those, eh?" Belaeth folded his arms a little too casually. "Thought you were set on the bachelor life for sure. What's it been now?" There was an edge to his cousin's voice.

Adan ignored it. "Couple of years," was all he said.

"Going to have kids?"

"Dunno. Recommend it?" He glanced out the window at the courtyard, where a small domestic drama was playing itself out.

"Depends on the day. Or the hour. Fucking—oh, forget it, Nat, I've got to—"

A young woman was reaching out to tug at Belaeth's sleeve. Adan took advantage of his cousin's distraction to take his leave.

* * *

Meris pulled back the curtain and snorted. "What's the fool boy up to out there?"

Lysette turned to look. Her husband was making his way through the garden—except that no, he'd stopped to examine the interior of an earthenware pot. And then another. After a moment, as if he felt their eyes on him, Adan glanced up. He nodded at Lysette and trudged to the door, but it was his mother he addressed while he kicked off his boots.

"You've scoured the pots," he accused her.

"Don't you dare get mud on those flagstones."

"I told you I was coming. Why the blazes didn't you—"

"Heavens, Adan, if I waited for you for every little thing—"

"Did you at least get one of the lads to help you carry all that water?" He strode across the room and reached for her hands, inspecting them as if he could see whatever damage he feared. Pella had complained about scouring pots at Skyhold, Lysette remembered, and she was seized by sudden curiosity.

"Why do you _need_ to clean the flowerpots?" she asked. "Aren't they supposed to have dirt inside?"

Mother and son shot her matching looks of tolerant amusement. Lysette picked up her teacup, feeling a little abashed.

Adan walked over and patted her on the shoulder, still talking to his mother about the garden all the while.

—

The shadows were lengthening by the time they bade Meris a good evening.

"Come back soon, now," she said sternly to Adan, and then looked at Lysette. "Both of you."

They made their way to the west gate of the alienage.

"That," said Adan cheerfully, "went better than I expected."

Lysette nodded, not feeling the energy to banter with him. He shot her a quick, sidelong look as they set a course to their lodgings. There were only a few other people on this street around them, all of whom were absorbed in their own business.

"So you've met my family. One of them, anyway… Tomorrow we'll go to see yours?"

"It seems likely." If they'd gotten her message—and if they'd answered it.

They were still some distance from the market district, but the calls of costermongers rose like seagulls. One voice carried above the rest, that of a dwarven man hawking his wares.

At her side, Adan grimaced. "That fellow has been at it for fifteen years or more," he muttered. "Direct from Orzammar. We bloody well know it, man."

"I remember him."

"Of course you do. You lived here, too."

"For a while. Yes." She glanced around. There was that old statue of Andraste, so worn you could hardly make our her face. "I used to walk around here with my father."

Unexpectedly, Adan turned to her. "Tell me about him."

"Haven't I? I have."

"Not in detail." Those brown eyes were too intent for comfort.

Lysette slowed her steps as they passed the statue. "I didn’t really know him until I moved here. I’m still not sure I do."

They'd never been very close. Lysette hadn't much felt his absence as a child; her father had been a figure who came to the city once a year to trade, an enigmatic and not particularly close relative, and that was that. When he was in Val Royeaux, he brought her small trinkets and a vague affection. He was a man whose interest lay in his craft rather than in personal affairs, and was as reserved with his peers as with his daughter. Compared to her mother's suffocating sort of attention, his distance had been a relief.

Dera wasn't the only one to comment on how much Lysette took after her father. He'd always been a man of grave features and few words. It boggled the mind to imagine him with her mother, whose relentless and nigh-unaffordable social life had been the bane of Lysette's youth.

No, Lysette hadn't wanted him to be anything other than what he was. When she'd grown older and the tension with her mother had grown in tandem, she'd liked the idea of having someone... out there. Away. And when her mother had remarried, she'd been glad of that connection and the escape it offered, even if it meant going alone to the strange foreign city that was Denerim. It might be the birthplace of Andraste, but to her it was an alien land, full of strange folk she could barely understand.

Except Rian. They'd understood one another at once, she and Rian, who hadn't even seen his tenth summer. He'd been gone longer than he'd lived.

She glanced at Adan. The scars on his face were old but deep, sharp-edged in the setting sunlight, and guilt rose in her like bile. It wasn't as if he'd led a charmed life. She wasn't the only one who'd known pain. _Selfish, wallowing girl._

She shook her head. "Adan, I…"

"It's all right." He waved a hand in dismissal. "Let's get back and see if he's answered your message. Or if nothing else, fetch our supper."

The two of them reached the inn just as the sun set behind the city walls. Adan's connections had come in handy after all. Their lodgings for these weeks in Denerim were better than Lysette had expected: the beds were good, and they had the luxury of a private room. There was, however, still no message from her family. So they took a quick meal and went upstairs to settle in for the evening. Lysette refused Adan's offer of a sleeping draught.

She regretted that, later, when she woke. It was early morning, but the sky was dark and rain pattered on the slate roof overhead. Neither of them bothered to strike a light.

Adan only peered at her wearily through the twilight. "What was it this time?"

She shook her head wordlessly. The dream was nothing she wanted to speak of. A nameless terror chasing her through the twists and turns of city streets—her brother, or was it her own child? _Créateur_. Tonight she'd take the draught.

Adan didn't seem surprised by her silence, only reached over to rest a warm hand on her arm. They'd been through worse. Nights of tossing and turning through the worst of the withdrawal, cold sweats that soaked through the linens of their bed. He'd been humiliatingly patient, which made it worse.

But he understood, too, and that made it better.

* * *

Adan didn't bother trying to go back to sleep. He lay on his elbow, staring vaguely out the window at the chimney pots of the next house over, and thought about the previous day.

It had gone well, taking Lysette to the alienage. Better than he expected—and his relief was at odds with the distress Lysette was clearly still feeling as she lay awake, half-curled against his side. As much out of desire for warmth as for companionship, he suspected. Sooner or later someone would have to light the fire.

But he felt incongruously comfortable and contented. So he only moved his hand to Lysette's face, tucking her hair out of her eyes while she blinked up at him.

"Talk to me," he murmured.

"What about?"

"Don't care. Talk about—I don't know—the Chant or something."

"Now I know you love me."

He snorted and rolled onto his back, pulling her closer against his side. She didn't resist. "If you didn't know that by now, there's no hope for you. Was it so bad, seeing where I’m from?”

Lysette reached out at once, splaying her fingers on his chest. “No! No, that’s not what’s—” She clenched her jaw. Adan shifted as her fingers curled and dug into his flesh.

"That tickles," he told her.

Lysette ignored the remark but let her hand drop. She replaced it with her cool cheek. "No. It's the rest of it. But when will we have another chance to see both our families?"

"You're mother's not here. What about her?"

He didn't hear it, but he could feel her faint exhale.

"I've seen my mother only once since I was thirteen, Adan, and I don't think she has any interest in being family to me now."

"Forget her, then. Forget all of them. We'll have our own bloody family." He tightened his grip on her back. "You need something to take your mind off matters."

"I'm too tired for something," Lysette said pathetically. She rolled out of his embrace. 

"Not _that_, woman." He examined her profile. "An outing. I don't know. We're on holiday, aren't we?"

"No. We're out of work."

"_You're_ out of work. _I_ can work anywhere. But since I'm not about to leave my beloved wife to sulk while I do, I'll have to take a break and make sure you get some air. What do you want to do today? Browse the market—walk by the river–"

"As long as we're upwind," she muttered, turning onto her back and giving him a dubious look.

"Now, now. The river doesn't stink half so much as it did when I was a kid. Modern sanitation is a wonder."

"Why are you in such a bloody good mood?" Lysette rubbed her eyes.

“I’m always in a good mood. Sunny-natured, that’s me. Up with you.”

She groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose.

—

There was no message downstairs, so they went for that walk after all. But Adan's good mood was beginning to fray when they returned at noon and there was still no message. Lysette was looking more and more ghastly with every passing hour. Better to get this business over with.

"Why don't we just go?" he suggested finally. "Will they be at the market today?"

"It's Sunday. They'll be at the house." The family had once lived upstairs from the shop, Lysette had told him, but moved elsewhere after the Blight.

The stink of the river did recede once they were past the bridge. The air still smelled a bit, though. Not strongly. Just an undercurrent of… sea things. Town things. The acrid tang in the nostrils from too many wood fires burning on a damp, chilly morning.

"Where are we going, exactly?" Adan asked Lysette.

"That way." Lysette waved a hand vaguely northward and then halted. She corrected course and turned to the east. "No, this way."

Adan raised a brow. She avoided his eyes.

"It's changed since the Blight," she said, as if that explained anything.

"I thought you trained in Denerim," he said. He was beginning to have suspicions. "It can't have been that long since you were in the city last."

"Four years."

"How long since you visited your family, then?"

Her pause said enough.

Adan stopped walking altogether to turn and stare at her. "Tell me you've seen them since you left for training."

"Of course." Lysette turned back to him, shielding her face. The rain was starting up again and droplets already glinted on her uncovered hair.

He narrowed his eyes back at her.

"Not often," she admitted. "A few times. Now and then. But I haven't… visited their house, no."

"Maker's breath, woman." _And I thought I was bad. _"We don't have to do this. Now, ever."

"No." And then she did meet his eyes. "I want to get it over with, too." 

They located the place eventually. Adan shifted his weight from foot to foot and Lysette stared at the closed door while they waited for a response. No nervousness on her face now, only a dull sort of resignation. She looked as if she were walking to her own funeral.

In spite of his best efforts, Adan's irritation was returning. If these people couldn't be arsed to—

The door opened. A short, plump woman stood on the threshold.

"Lysette," she whispered. "You came?"

A small girl clung to her skirts and stared silently up at the two strangers. The woman's eyes were almost as wide as her child's as they finally broke away from Lysette and shifted to Adan.

"You must be Master, ah—"

Her accent was as Fereldan as his, but faltered on his surname as she looked him up and down. Which was just bloody typical, really.

"Adan," he said briefly.

"Of course. I apologize. I wasn't expecting—"

"We can come another time," said Lysette in a low voice. "It's not necessary to disturb my father."

"No," the woman said quickly. "We got your message. We just weren't—oh, Lysette. Please stay. I'll get Tieran." She reached out and squeezed Lysette's shoulder, giving her head a brisk shake before disappearing into the house.

Lysette glanced back at Adan. Her face was stony but her eyes held a question.

"Up to you," he muttered.

And she crossed the threshold into her family home. So he followed.

—

It wasn't as bad as he'd expected. It wasn't comfortable, but he'd put Lysette through the same bloody thing with his own mother—not that it was a comparable situation. _His_ family hadn't tossed him out to fend for himself, even when they'd had better cause.

So he was braced to be angry at Tieran Rendall. But Adan found it harder than he expected to hold on to his resentment, watching someone who looked so much like Lysette reach out to grasp her hand.

It wasn't until an hour later, once they'd left with vague promises to return the following week, that he asked the question weighing on his mind. "Why didn't you visit before?" As a rule, Lysette wasn't one to put things off. 'Discomfort be damned' was her usual attitude.

She shrugged, as if the answer were obvious. "I didn't want to remind them of Rian."

"Hardly likely they'd forget—" Adan bit his tongue, feeling like a lout. He'd been thinking of her father's rejection, but not her brother's death. They should never have come to this damnable city. He tried to moderate his tone. "Where did it happen?"

"I'm not sure," she confessed. "Not exactly. I remember there were… cobblestones."

"Not near here, then. That'd be closer to the Palace District."

"Maybe." She looked away. "It's a muddle, really. Does it matter?"

"S'pose not."

They walked on.

"There's the cathedral," she said, pointing. "The old barracks are only a block that way. There's the training ground in back—I spent a lot of time there."

"Brave woman."

She scoffed. "Swords don't make you brave."

"Maker's balls, woman, I don't think you're brave for fighting—well, I do. Of course I do, but that's not what I meant. When we first met… "

It seemed suddenly important to tell her this. Hadn't he told her this?

_Bloody fool._

"I thought you were brave for leaving," he said roughly. "For never looking back."

"I looked back all the time. I still do."

"Blast it, I can't say anything right." They kept walking while Adan gathered his thoughts. He spoke again as they crossed the bridge a second time. "I meant—you'd never have actually gone back, not once you saw what it was. You've got integrity. More than me, by a lot."

Lysette had slowed to a stop and was staring at him blankly. It was, he had to admit, an unusual protestation of feeling for one o'clock in the afternoon over a crowded river reeking of sewage. Adan started to turn away.

"I wish I were the person you think I am," she whispered. Her voice was low enough that he barely caught the words.

But he caught them, and fuck if he knew what to do with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grim! Sorry.
> 
> It'll get better soon. :)


	4. Cloth of Starlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Festivities. Everyone loves a party! 
> 
> (No one loves a party.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: contains half a dozen or so gratuitious cameos. 
> 
> Also some (very vague) smut.

His ears filled with the song of multitudes  
Raised in chorus, and before his eyes the dark skies parted  
And Andraste, dressed in cloth of starlight and armored  
In moonlight, stood before him, and he was afraid.

_—Apotheosis 2:16_

Thanks to an untimely downpour, they were both damp and shivering by the time they arrived back at the tavern. The place was already filling up for the evening. Lysette made a beeline for a small table by the fire and Adan lowered himself into the seat across from her with a grimace.

Lysette was already occupied in peeling off her damp gloves, but she didn't miss his discomfort.

"Your back?" she asked.

"Don't worry about it." He drummed his fingers on the table and scanned the busy room for the barmaid.

The barmaid was nowhere to be found, but someone else was heading their way. A heavyset fellow, with ruddy hair and ruddy skin, who cut through the crowd more easily than a fellow of that size ought to have done_—well, fuck. _

Adan grimaced again as the man drew closer to their table, hoping Slim would take the hint. He didn't. The bloody fool kept walking their way. But at the last moment, he took in Adan's companion. With a wince and an apologetic nod, Slim slipped back into the crowd with an unobtrusive ease.

Lysette hadn't even turned her head. Adan let out a breath of relief just before she asked, quietly, "One of your contacts?"

So she _had_ seen him, then. Bollocks.

They didn't speak often of Adan's involvement with the elves. It was one of the subjects they danced away from, most of the time. Evidently it was a day for old wounds to make their presence known.

"Yeah," he said finally. He could have left it there, but… her face was calm and the fire crackled at her back. She was trustworthy. He needed to get in the habit of telling her things. "That's the fellow I sent those confusion grenades to, back during the war."

"Oh." She paused.

Adan didn't need to elaborate. They both remembered the spymaster's report and what it had almost cost them. So when she brushed a finger lightly over the back of his hand, he grabbed her hand and squeezed it.

"I'll go get us some food," she said. "If you need to talk to him."

* * *

"Not hungry?" Adan asked some time later, watching Lysette stare vacantly at the half-eaten pie on her plate. 

Lysette shook her head. "No." She really wasn't.

He leaned away from his own empty plate and studied her. "An early night, then?"

"I don't need you to look after me, Adan." But she gathered up her gloves and rose to her feet.

"Maker forbid." He followed her to the staircase. The rain was battering the slate roof over their heads as they climbed. Even so, Lysette was used to the timbre of his voice and had no trouble hearing his mumble of, "Need to be sure you're well enough to look after _me_."

Lysette elected not to respond.

The door swung open on a room that was just as they'd left it. Adan lit a lamp and bent to take off his boots while Lysette went first to the trunk where her weapons and armor were locked. They too were undisturbed. Still, she didn't regret her concern. It was valuable equipment.

"So you got your blessing from Mother Somebody," said Adan, straightening to lean against the wall. They had, in fact, detoured to the cathedral before returning to the inn. "Worth it?"

"Yes. And thank you for stopping in this weather."

"Glad it helped. Though I'd rather spend my coin on a pint than a prayer, myself."

"Foolish man." The weather hadn't done Lysette's civilian clothing any favors, either. She unlaced her gown and stepped over to the washbasin, drying her hands on the linen cloth before sliding her wedding ring back on. "Sacreligious, too," she added as an afterthought while she reached for her comb. Even after sitting in front of the fire, her hair was still wet.

"Well, we've all got our own form of worship." Adan beetled his brows at her as she began combing. "Fortunately we've the coin for both, so no call for difficult decisions. How are you feeling, really?"

"I said I don't need you to take care of me." The words came out more sharply than she intended. Seeing his expression shift, she felt a moment of relief—yes, it was better for him to pull back. Better to pull away from her than to see her in all her weakness.

She knew he didn't really feel that way. Of course she did. They'd discussed it more than once. But it was hard, after the day they'd had, to set the old worries aside.

Adan unclasped his cowl and dropped it on the peg, his own wedding ring catching the lamplight as he turned back to face her.

"I heard what you said earlier," he muttered. "I don't—damn it, Lysette, I'm rubbish at this. Always have been."

She let her arms fall as he stepped closer.

"I love you," he went on. He took the comb from her loose grasp and set it aside before returning to thread his fingers through her hair in its place, turning her face to his. "_You_. You stubborn, impossible… wonderful woman."

His mouth found hers and the worries began to slip away. Warm hands left her hair to stroke down her ribs and leave her skin tingling in their wake.

"Adan—"

His breathing had changed; his fingers dig harder into her hips, and she threw caution to the wind. She loosened her chemise and his hands slid inside. And when his body pressed hers into the mattress, when the heat of his movement had her panting into the cool night air, there was no more stumbling over words.

They'd always been better at communicating like this, anyway.

—

The next few weeks went quickly, in retrospect, though the days felt agonizingly slow to Lysette. Adan, at least, had plenty of work to keep him occupied—although he was beginning to grumble about the lack of a workshop, it would be some time yet before he'd finished writing up reports of the experiments he'd worked on at Skyhold. Lysette suspected he simply missed having the opportunity to set things on fire.

They visited their families again in the interim. Lysette was surprised to find herself looking forward to the alienage visits. And if she didn't quite look forward to her visits to her father's house, she dreaded them less than she had. Her father was cautiously inviting, and Dera was as warm and welcoming as she had ever been. It didn't take long for the latter's affection to surpass her reserve.

"You're good with her," Dera said one day, smiling, as little Alise trotted into the room and straight for her half-sister's lap. The girl had been delighted by the dwarven doll Lysette had given her as a Satinalia gift; if she hadn't won her over before, that had certainly cemented her affections. "You'll have your own, now you've a husband?"

"I, ah." Suddenly uncomfortable, Lysette shifted Alise off her lap and onto the settee at her side. The child squinted in the sun that streamed in from the courtyard window. Lysette's father had done well since the Blight; he might not be in the cordwainer's guild, but this was a finer house than the one Lysette remembered. "Well."

"I'm sorry!" blurted Dera, waving her hands in front of her face and wincing. "That's so rude of me to ask. I of all people should know better."

"No, of course not," Lysette said automatically. The question didn't bother her, actually. From someone else, it might have grated, but when her eyes met Dera's, Lysette thought they were sharing the same memory.

_You're good with him. _

"He'd be proud of you," Dera said, after a pause. "He _was_ proud of you."

Lysette looked down and tried to swallow the bitterness that rose in her own throat. How could this woman be so—open? Forgiving? It was enough to put her to shame.

It wasn't the first time they'd stumbled into talk of Rian. A painful memory for them both. But it was a comfort, too, that neither of them were alone in thinking of him. That he'd been real. That he'd left a mark in the world, however small, and wasn't forgotten entirely.

It wasn't much, but it was something.

—

When she returned to the inn that afternoon, Adan was working in the tavern. There was a writing desk in their room, but he'd taken to spreading out his papers over the larger table by the window. She remembered him doing the same thing at Haven, and her already-sore heart ached a little more. Any more time in this city and her emotions would be fully topsy-turvy.

"Who are you writing to?" she asked, sitting next to him on the trestle bench.

He didn't look up. "Who am I _not_ writing to would be a better question. Minaeve. Colleague in Starkhaven, a silversmith in Tantervale, and I've just had a letter from Lavellan about the plans for Redcliffe." He set the pen down with a sigh. "And there's a letter for you from your Seeker friend."

"Thank you." Lysette took it with only a quick glance at Belinda's bold script. She'd save that for later. "For someone who can't be bothered with socializing, you certainly know a lot of people."

"You're hardly the most sociable sort yourself, my girl… and I'll have you know I've received an invitation I intend to accept. Admittedly, I'm not sure I _could_ decline."

"What? From whom?"

He shuffled the papers around and then tossed another letter at her. "Have a look. You're invited, too."

She blinked at the elaborate seal. "_Créateur_."

"Quite."

* * *

The vestibule was crowded, and the hall even more so. Satinalia was as big a fuss amongst the nobility as anyone else. Bigger. There must be three hundred people here tonight. More if you included the servants. Adan saw people he knew among both groups. Not as many as he would have, once, but then it had been a long time since he'd attended festivities at the palace.

There was even a cluster of folk in blue-and-silver armor waiting to leave their weapons in the guardroom, just as Lysette and had done. So some of the Wardens had survived the war after all? Adan looked them over with mild curiosity. There was a dwarf with an elaborate red beard and a receding hairline and a Dalish elf he didn't recognize. The humans looked vaguely familiar, though, especially that dark-haired man and the blonde woman at his side. Adan couldn't quite place it. But then, fully half the people in this room looked familiar on some account or other; family resemblances were common enough among the nobility. Inbred twats, the lot of them.

Lysette made her way back to him and walked rather stiffly at his side as they made their way into the great hall. She was ill at ease, too. But the former Inquisition had been invited, and they were—had been—part of the Inquisition. Lavellan and her former advisors were guests of honor, up on the dais with the king, along with Arl Teagan and a few Orlesians. All of them looked as if they'd rather be elsewhere. Adan was glad that he and Lysette, at least, would be down with the rest of the rabble.

And mercifully there would be no formal presentations at this court. Not tonight. This was, by royal standards, a casual affair. Just one of many events the palace would host before the season was out. It was a banquet, not a full feast, and thank the bloody Maker for that. A mere six courses instead of a dozen. They might be able to leave before dawn if they were lucky.

The last time Adan had been here was for Cailan's coronation. He'd danced with Anora—she wasn't here today, though Adan had looked for her. Last he'd heard, she'd finally come to an understanding with the king and was a respected member of the court once again. Good for her, however she'd wrangled it. 

Alistair could have married her and avoided that all fuss, but he hadn't. Examining the empty throne at the king's side, Adan wondered whether it had been worth it.

—

People were beginning to drift away from the banquet tables and stood in groups under the brightly colored banners that decorated the hall. Lysette had gone to speak with Cullen and Adan sat at his end of the table alone. Elven servants filled drinks and collected dishes—that at least was a constant in Thedas. The musicians were playing, pipes and tambourines making a fuss with people lining up to dance. 

A whirl of faces and voices. Laughter and talk. Candlelight and torches. It might have been only twenty minutes since he'd last seen Lady Habren–no, definitely twenty years, she'd only been a child then. Arl Teagan was showing his years. There were the elder Barrises, and—Maker, that had to be Bann Gallifort. He didn't look much more pleasant than his younger brother.

Adan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He was too old for this nonsense. Formal attire, courtly manners, none of it was his cup of tea these days. Not that it had ever come naturally to him, not really, but twenty years ago it had still held the appeal of novelty. Well. At least the ale was good.

His thoughts drifted aimlessly as he watched the crowd. He was beginning to wish for more ale, and to hope a surprise visit from an archdemon wasn't on the schedule of festivities, when someone walked up and caught his attention.

Lysette was in formal dress, too. Something blue and gold in that Orlesian style she favored; it clung to her arms and shoulders, but the neck was cut low and it was a struggle not to gawk as she bent towards him. At least, not to gawk such that anyone else would notice. Lysette herself wouldn't mind a bit of lechery. Not from him—and no small miracle, that.

"A dance?" she inquired, smirking slightly. She always was the one to ask.

"Right, then."

He enjoyed it more than he ought to have done. But they were almost free of this place, almost ready to start their new life together, and she was so bloody gorgeous Adan would have suffered the presence of three hundred more fools to see it. She smiled up at him and he tightened his hold on her waist, until the music changed and he had to let her go.

—

It wasn't until the end of the evening that Adan met the new King of Ferelden face to face. Not that Alistair was especially new to the job—it had been what, fifteen years since his crowning—but that was what time did to a person. Anyone who wasn't Maric would always be _new_ in Adan's book.

He was still finishing his drink when Lysette rose to her feet. "I need to get my things from the guardroom," she said. "Don't bother coming along in this crowd. Meet you at the door?"

"Fine. You go on ahead." He sipped at the last of his ale.

He managed to avoid choking when a well-dressed man sat heavily on the bench where Lysette had been a moment before.

"Ah. Evening, Your Majesty."

"I don't think we've met," said the man, as casually as if this weren't a palace and he weren't the bloody King of Ferelden.

"No. I worked for your father, though."

Family resemblances among the nobility, indeed. With his hair curling around his chin like that the king _did_ resemble his father, though not the way Cailan had. His complexion was darker than either, the face—well, it had been a long time. Adan's memory wasn't keen enough to recall Maric's features in detail, but the royal portraits on the far wall were reminder enough. That was almost certainly why they were hung there. Evidently Alistair knew just how much his claim to the throne lay in that resemblance.

"The alchemist? Yes, I've heard of you."

Adan lifted a brow. But Alistair had turned to watch Lysette walk away. Her sword belt hung empty, but the king's eye fell on it as she disappeared into the vestibule.

"Your wife's a templar?"

"Was," said Adan, a bit more shortly than was customary when addressing royalty. No fool, this king, though he seemed happy enough to let others believe it.

"Happens to the best of us. And a lot of others, too..." Alistair glanced across the hall. "Cullen looks bloody miserable, doesn't he?"

He did, rather. The leadership of the former Inquisition were civilians now—at least officially—but the ex-commander looked no more at ease in formal finery than he had in a dress uniform. Lavellan hid it better, but Adan knew her well enough to read her discomfort. At least this was familiar territory for them all, by now.

Adan found he was developing a headache. He'd had enough of crowns and monarchs and politics for one lifetime. The game was the same whichever royal arse sat on the throne. All he wanted now was to get himself—and Lysette, preferably—out of this palace alive.

And then they'd retire to Redcliffe, or the Bannorn, or the blasted Korcari Wilds if they had to. They'd spent long enough in this city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus we conclude the Denerim chapters. On to the Hinterlands!


	5. Dream and Idea

3 Solis, 9:27 Dragon

Told Toni I loved her. Idiotic of me, but there it is—I do.

She didn't run off, which is something.

Didn't say it back, either.

5 Solis

_[lazy sketch of a boardwalk and a few houses on stilts]_

_[detailed drawing of eelgrass]_

7 Solis

She said it back. I might still be a bloody fool, but at least I'm not the only one.

Going down to the strand again tonight. Think I might buy that cottage. Imagine me, a man of property. (Cheap property, but that's beside the point.) Next thing you know I'll be feeding a houseful of brats.

_[This page wrinkled, gritty, and a bit faded, much as if it had been dropped in a tidepool and then laid aside to dry in the sun.]_

—From the journals of Adan Surana

Ellana Lavellan hadn't expected to live this long.

She pushed up her sleeve and studied her arm. The scar was clean, if crooked, ending in a pucker just above where her elbow had been. A neatly healed wound. It stood out a bit against her freckled skin, but she had far more gruesome scars elsewhere.

Her hands had been everything to her, once. They'd been how she cast her spells, made her crafts, led the halla. How she caressed her loved ones. How she navigated the world when words seemed too difficult and smiles too false.

She could hardly remember how it felt to be that girl. It was like looking back through a fog to imagine the Ellana who would have mourned such a loss unconditionally. This Ellana, the one who was five years away from her people and her past?

For _this _Ellana, it was a relief. The pain seemed to stretch back in time, touching every memory of the things she'd done with that hand even before the mark had seared itself into her skin. An unwanted power that had grown into something monstrous, lopsided—leading her like a beast under the yoke. Its absence left her with a dizzying lightness. But she was changed—oh, yes, she was.

And she’d survived it. Unless this was one of those elaborate dreams one sometimes had in the Fade, here she was. Without Deshanna, without her clan, without her forsaken left hand. Surrounded by templars and glad of it. It was too bizarre to be anything but reality.

Not that the Fade wasn't real, too. But it wasn't real in the way the oaks of Redcliffe Village were real, or the way Cullen was real as he reappeared from the stable and came over to collect her horse's reins. The wind ruffled his hair in spite of all his efforts to keep it controlled, and Ellana marveled—not for the first time—at the sheer beauty of the man. Not the sort of beauty she'd have once said she preferred, but undeniable all the same.

"Coming?" he asked with a quirk of his brow.

She almost reached out to cup his cheek, but the ghost of her left hand was finally starting to fade from her mind. So she only smiled down at him and said, "But the view is so much nicer from here."

Cullen's ears went a little pink, but that was all. He stepped to the side and held the saddle for her as she slid off her horse.

"Little vixen," he mumbled as her body brushed against his.

"You're just so easy to tease, Cullen."

"From anyone else, I'd take that as an offense."

He was laughing, though. Not threatened, just amused, and her heart ached with—everything, a bit of everything, to see him so relaxed and comfortable. It had been too long since she'd seen that look.

She'd wondered, privately, whether he wouldn't prefer to settle closer to his family—whether he'd prefer to be further from the abandoned tower in the lake. But he seemed unbothered, though alert, as they climbed the stairs to the Gull and Lantern.

The village was quiet today. Few people were out and about, and though smoke rose from a handful of chimneys, the smell of spring was everywhere: that eternal smell of fresh leaves and ancient humus. It was never really dry here. Moss grew between the cracks in the boards under her toes, on the balusters, on the roof of the tavern itself. A light wind blowing up from the lake kept the moisture in the air from feeling oppressive, though fog still clung to the distinctive red cliffs that gave this place its name.

Cullen wasn’t taking in the landscape. He had his back to it, in fact, peering over Ellana’s shoulder to study the tavern sign that creaked gently in the breeze. "I've never stayed here before," he remarked. "Anything I ought to know?"

"Don't eat the cheese."

He shot her a look of amused skepticism and she found herself patting his cheek, after all. And she didn't drop her hand at the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs behind them.

Ellana and Cullen had spent so long maintaining a professional distance in public. People had known of their relationship, of course—they'd all but declared it publicly the night she'd defeated Corypheus, when he'd embraced her in front of everyone. But even then they'd wanted something that was their own. Private, when nothing else in their lives fit that description. An odd notion for a Dalish woman: but then, she'd always been a bit odd for a Dalish woman.

And now Skyhold was behind them. It was a new and wonderful thing to be free and open and themselves. Cullen didn't even look embarrassed to be caught in a moment of affection. He turned his face into her hand and kissed her fingers as Ellana turned to see who was joining them.

It was a pair of humans. She hadn't seen them in some months, but they were familiar: a tall, dark-haired woman with eyes too tired for her face, dressed in plain trousers and a loose shirt. At her side, a similarly attired man some years older, head shaved and face scarred behind a goatee just starting to grizzle. The latter shifted the saddlebag he was carrying to extend an abrupt hand in Ellana's direction.

She took it and smiled, and then they all went inside.

* * *

The other couple greeted them a bit awkwardly, Adan thought, but it was to be expected. No more titles, no more ranks. None of them in armor or uniform. None of them knew what they were doing here, exactly. But he was cautiously optimistic as they all settled onto benches around a long table between the window and the fire.

It wasn’t crowded. The innkeeper was already bustling in their direction, wiping his hands on his trousers. Adan nudged Lysette. "Food decent here?"

"Don't eat the cheese," she said seriously.

Ellana lifted her hand to greet the innkeeper just as the latter exclaimed, "Your Worship!"

"Just Ellana, Tal. How are things here?"

"Quiet, thank Andraste.” The dwarven man rubbed his temples. “No mages, no templars. Even the bandits have finally moved on since the last time you passed through."

"Good.”

The inkeeper nodded knowingly, told them he'd bring food in but a moment, and disappeared into the back.

Adan was impressed. For an unassuming woman, Ellana had a way of making friends wherever she went. She treated everyone with… decency, regardless of rank or race, without an eye to what they had to offer her. She might not have volunteered for the job of Inquisitor any more than Adan had signed up to be a healer, but he was glad the job had fallen to someone like that. Andraste had chosen her Herald well, he thought. Then he scoffed briefly at his own fancies and returned his attention to the conversation. The others were discussing plans for the templar sanctuary.

Cullen was looking better than the last time Adan had seen him. He looked relaxed. More than that, he looked healthy. Regardless of Adan's somewhat ambiguous feelings about the man, his progress was professionally satisfying as well as personally encouraging.

"Sparring for everyone who wants to keep it up, then?" asked Lysette.

"Yes," said Cullen. "Some of our residents may well wish to return to a related career one day. Joining the King's guard, perhaps. Others might simply enjoy the exercise. It'll be a start, at any rate."

Adan folded his arms on the table, staring blankly into the deeply grooved wood.

They expected a diverse population of former templars to join them at the sanctuary. There were those like Lysette, who'd learned that it was possible to break free of the lyrium and who still hoped for a life outside the Order. And there were others who had no such plans but no longer felt able to serve—or whose condition already called for specialized treatment. The weakened Chantry had hardly made the care of retired templars its priority these last few years.

"There's a lot of good land lying fallow since the Blight,” Cullen went on. “Arl Wulff has kindly offered to help us get some of it up and planted. He didn't say it outright, but I imagine it would benefit the people of West Hills as well.”

"He's been very generous," murmured Ellana.

"As well he ought,” said Cullen with dry emphasis. “But it’s important to keep on good terms with the neighbors. We’ll be supported by the Chantry for now, of course, but in time we’d like to be as self-sufficient as possible.”

Cullen went on to explain his ideas. He certainly did have a lot of them, and not just for the land. The sanctuary would want a a kitchen garden, a laundry, repairs to the villa… the list had Adan raising his eyebrows and opening his mouth, but Cullen shook his head before he could interject.

“No, we don’t want to overextend ourselves too soon. But we’ve got quite a lot at our disposal, and connections from the Inquisition will help. I’d like all our patients, or residents”—they hadn’t quite settled on the terminology—"to have a job of their own, whether in the kitchen or the stables. I’ve got a fellow already interested in overseeing the stables.”

Ellana propped her chin on her hand. "Perhaps we’ll need a kennelmaster," she said thoughtfully.

Adan looked at her. "If you're intending to house patients in kennels, I'll need to reconsider my association with this business."

The elven woman grinned. "No. Just Athim."

Ah. The mabari. “'Humility'? That’s a bit on the nose."

Cullen leaned forward. "You named my dog 'humility'?"

"You didn't know what it meant?" Ellana blinked at him. "Serves you right for not asking."

"I thought it was just a name!"

The innkeeper returned before Adan had the chance for an acerbic comment, which was probably just as well.

"Pottage, of course," said the dwarf, sliding a heavily laden tray onto the table. "Venison pie, fresh from the oven. Cheese and sausage. And we’ve got cider, ale—"

Adan ordered one of the latter while Lysette asked Ellana, "Who else are we expecting today?"

"Nobody. Threnn's already down at the villa with a few of the Chantry people. We'll be more staff than patients—residents—whatever we're calling them—for a good while, I expect."

"Are they all going to stay there?"

"I don't think so. Mother Giselle certainly won't, but I'm glad we've got her for however long she stays. Sister Cara will probably stay on. We'll want a full-time healer on site, and if she's willing, she's the best candidate. No offense to present company," she added with a glance at Adan.

Adan snorted and reached for the food, loading his plate with pie. "None taken."

"We'll need you at the potions bench, anyway. And with—"

"Right. Which." He set down the knife and turned to Ellana. "With no offense to present company, how are we going to handle the lyrium? We can't have it lying around unsecured."

"No." She tapped her fingers on the rim of her bowl. "Threnn will keep the raw supply secured. If you can show the healer how to prepare the stuff for the templars, she'll provide doses under supervision."

"Doubt that'll be popular," said Adan. The bench wobbled as Lysette shifted at his side.

Cullen spoke up for the first time since their food had arrived. Adan was pleased to note that he was making short work of the pottage. "An unfortunate necessity. No one is required to come to the sanctuary or to go off their lyrium if they don't wish to, but we won't hand it out without proper controls."

"And what about me?" Lyrium was an essential ingredient of many common potions, and even if it hadn't been, he would need it for his research.

"Put in a request with Threnn, along with any other ingredients you need, and she'll see your workshop is kept supplied. I'm sure we can trust you to keep things secured on your end."

"Obviously." Adan folded his arms.

"I think your equipment will have arrived from Skyhold by now. You can stay at the sanctuary until you're set up, of course—we'll have a cook on staff eventually, but until then we're fending for ourselves.” Ellana looked at Adan. “We'll also have ravens, thanks to Leliana.”

“Right. Thanks.” She didn’t need to elaborate.

"We'll travel down with you tomorrow, then," said Lysette. "If I can keep this one away from the bookseller."

Adan was mildly offended. He'd spent less than an hour browsing the Redcliffe merchant's wares that afternoon. "We're days from Denerim. If nothing else, I'll need a source for—"

"I hope you'll like the place we found for you," interrupted Ellana. A faint line appeared across her tattooed forehead. "It's a little farther from the villa than it might be, and it's not large. I thought you might prefer—"

Adan was oddly touched by her concern. The offer she'd made them had been generous enough in its own right, thanks to the Chantry gold that underpinned this entire enterprise, but Ellana seemed anxious that all her staff be well situated. She was determined that this would be a long-term project, that was clear. Little wonder. They could all use some stability in their lives.

"I'm sure it will be more than adequate," said Lysette curtly and then, even more curtly, "Thank you for taking the time." Adan nearly grinned. The politer her words, the less polite she sounded.

Cullen was watching them closely, and for a moment, Adan felt the urge to smile slip away. But when the party rose to go their separate ways, the former commander was the first to extend a hand to each of them in turn.

"Glad to have you here," was all he said.

—

By the time they finally set out to inspect their new home, it was raining. It had been raining for all of the three days they'd spent unpacking and tidying and cataloguing at the villa.

But that was Cloudreach in Ferelden, and they needed to visit the cottage in Hafter’s Woods sooner or later. The previous occupant, a woman known to her handful of neighbors simply as Old Rue, had made her way up to Redcliffe a week before. Their things had been sent up, and there was supposed to be a lad stopping by from a farmstead somewhere to the north to keep an eye on the place, but Adan had his doubts.

Their feet crunched on damp leaves and forest floor as they made their way through the path. They walked in silence until Lysette turned to him and said, "You had a house before."

Adan looked at her. "Still do, technically. I'm on the deed for my mother's house in Denerim." He scratched his beard, which was a little scruffier than usual after weeks on the road, and conceded, "But this is different."

"You’re starting over. I know. But I never expected to have my own home at all."

"How's it feel?"

"I'm not certain." She frowned. "How do _you _feel?”

"Itchy. Enough rashvine nettle in these woods that I'll be wanting my own suit of armor."

She gave him a level look, and he sighed. “Haven't decided. Should probably see the place before I make any grand pronouncements."

"You're dying to look at the garden, aren't you?"

He didn't answer, but he reached out and wrapped an arm around her waist.

It really wasn’t very far from the villa. After perhaps a mile of woods, the trees grew sparser and the two of them emerged in a muddy clearing. The path turned up a small hill that rose out of the surrounding forest; at the top sat a cottage in the usual Fereldan style. A few rickety-looking outbuildings kept it company. Two chimneys—quite good windows—he tried to stifle a stir of delight. Yes, this would do. A peacetime home. A good, solid place to work and rest and live their lives.

The fact that they wouldn't need to do their own washing made it all the more attractive.

Lysette squinted at the house as they reached the door. “This is the place?”

“Must be. Nobody’s home, at any rate. We’ll see if the key works.”

It did, although the door creaked loudly as Adan pushed it open. He blinked in the sudden darkness of the interior.

Yes, he was starting over. Again. But it didn't _feel_ like starting over. It felt like this was the… the distillation of everything he'd wanted all this time, and everything that had come before a thin dilution. He shook his head at himself as Lysette stepped past him into the house.

And there they were. Home. He only got so far as to take in wide floorboards, a fine stove, and old timber framing before he turned to find Lysette watching him like a hawk about to strike. They stared at one another in silence for a moment.

Adan shifted uncomfortably. "I think it's nice. But if you don't—"

"It's perfect,” she said in that low voice, and the next thing he knew his back was against the wooden door and she was in his arms, rising on her toes to compensate for the few inches' difference in their heights, and her lips were on his. He slid a hand up her back and let the other curve around her—

But she broke out of his arms, laughing, while he glowered.

"Tease."

"Our things should be in the other room,” she said briskly. “And it looks like there's food. I think that boy has been by after all. You should check to make sure everything’s here.”

“What about you?”

"I want to look around outside while the rain's stopped."

Adan glanced out the leaded glass window. "It hasn't stopped."

"It's stopped as much as it's likely to. We're in Ferelden."

“I’ve lived in Orlais, you dreadful woman.” He smacked her bottom affectionately, or tried to; she darted out of the way at the last moment. “It rains there too.”

—

Adan stayed inside to poke about the back rooms. There was definitely work to be done here. This cupboard door wouldn't even open. He ran a finger around the edge, but there was no lock; the wood was only jammed. If he forced it, it might split right in two.

"Adan," called a voice from outside. It sounded like his wife, but the exuberance with which she declared, "We've got chickens," did not.

"We've got what?" he called back rather absently. The bloody thing still wouldn't budge. Maybe if he—

"Chickens. Birds? _Des poules?"_ Lysette's voice came from just beneath the open window.

"Yes, thank you, I'm acquainted with the—" Adan gave up on both the cupboard and the sentence. He turned to lean on the windowsill and focused his attention on Lysette. "What do you mean _we_ have them? They've probably just wandered down from the farmstead."

"No. They live here. There's a little…" She gestured with her arms, shaping a loose boxy figure in the air. "Chicken house."

"Oh, for—"

"Come out and see."

"No." Adan rested his hands on the sill and glared down at her.

"Why not?"

"I hate chickens. They're filthy and they smell."

"I'm going to keep them. I've decided."

"You are taking merciless advantage of the fact that I adore you."

"Is it working?"

"Might be. What've you got there?"

She held up her hands. Adan leaned helplessly against the jamb as a hatchling peeped and stretched its scrawny neck between Lysette's fingers.

"The little bastard shit on me," she said happily.

Adan cleared his throat. "Put the thing back with its mother and get in here. I need to borrow your warrior muscles."

He could only watch as she turned and sauntered back down the hill, still cooing over the fluffy creature. Disgusting birds, yes—but that battle was already lost.

Not that he needed to tell her so. She knew him too bloody well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> InquisiPOV? Unprecedented! 
> 
> (For the curious, [here](https://tanaleth.tumblr.com/post/190913352607/speedpaint-of-my-canon-inquisitor) is some [art](https://tanaleth.tumblr.com/post/185168407887) of my Lavellan over the [years.](https://tanaleth.tumblr.com/post/176287547967/and-done-hey-i-think-its-done))


	6. Hope and Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talk nerdy to me, baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW alert for the scene in the garden. The one with the slugs.
> 
> (People, it's a pandemic. I am out of fucks to give.)

Oi, grumpyguts—

Got your letter. Same thing everywhere. Not sure why. Will let you know.

Don't let my Widdle blow herself up. Anyone else is fine.

Say hi to Commander Stuffypants and Her Elfiness for me. Do they still have that stupid dog?

P.S. Ta for the bees.

***

Adan lowered the letter to see his companion blinking up at him brightly. He snorted, shoved the parchment in a belt pouch, and waved Dagna inside.

"Well, here we are."

"Oh, it's so cozy!"

"Thanks," he muttered.

'Cozy' was one word for it. 'Cluttered' was more accurate. That workshop outside couldn't be done soon enough for his liking. One thing at a time, though. He'd gotten the garden started, and that would save them the hassle and expense of having plants bought in. Or so he'd assured Lysette when arguing for the garden's priority, and whether or not she was entirely convinced wasn't for him to say.

Dagna made a beeline for the kitchen.

"Still wish the stuff didn't have such a half-life," said Adan a few minutes later.

"Oh, that's because it's actually alive! Theoretically, anyway, which is what makes it so fascinating. Especially the red kind, which is—"

"Not our concern." He bloody well hoped not, anyway.

"Well, no."

She looked a little disappointed. Adan rolled his eyes. "How long will you be down in the Hinterlands?"

"Just a few days. Or maybe longer. Cullen asked me to have a look at the locks."

"The locks? You can do those?"

"I can do—well, no one can do anything, but I can do _pretty_ much anything! Especially with Her Worship to lend a hand. Some things only an enchanter can do and some things only an _Enchanter_ can do. It's why I miss working with your cousin—well, that and I like her. There're only so many mages who understand the theoretical underpinnings of—"

With difficulty, Adan redirected the conversation.

"You said locks. Could I get one?"

Dagna sat up straighter. "Of course! For the house?"

"Well—maybe, but I was thinking of the workshop."

She glanced at the crates and vats of supplies piled around them. "Isn't this the workshop?"

"Just for now. As soon as I clear out that shed, all this rubbish is going in there." Squirrels had been nesting in it. He'd evicted them and scoured the place as best he could with a combination of lye and lotus extract. Playing housewife, he was.

Dagna took a large bite of a scone. He was rather pleased with those scones.

It wasn't long before they were caught up in discussion of theory. And it was nearly three hours before Lysette's bootsteps could be heard outside.

Adan leaned back and rubbed his nose. "It's getting on."

Dagna nodded and hopped to her feet. "I'd better head back to the villa. Don't want to be out too late in these woods! I'm _pretty_ sure you have bears."

* * *

Lysette waved absently at Dagna as she reached the cottage. The dwarf returned the gesture with enthusiasm as she trotted away down the path.

It was a nice afternoon. The sun shining down on the hillside gave Lysette a hint of energy that had been difficult to find of late. Even so, she stifled a yawn as she sat on the stoop to remove her armor, loosening one steel buckle and leather strap after another.

Adan's garden was already starting to sprout things, she noticed. Lysette recognized more of them than she would have before the Inquisition. These shoots by the stairs were royal elfroot. She rose to her feet and bent to examine the fragile leaves.

One thing led to another, and Lysette was thoroughly absorbed in weeding and removing pests when the cottage door slammed shut behind Adan.

"Hullo," he said. "Look at you. Tending the garden—oi! Careful with that." He reached out to swat her hands away from the elfroot. "They're valuable, these are. And this one's just a baby."

Lysette was slightly affronted. "I thought you didn't like them."

"Not," he said vaguely, his attention on the slug, "wreaking havoc in the garden, no. But kept apart—that slime is potent stuff. Alchemist's secret."

"Eurgh. Don't tell me you want to breed them."

"Won't need to. Randy little bastards."

"How do they even... " She lost her train of thought as she watched him gently pry the slimy creature from the underside of the leaf. "I can't believe you've got me wondering about this," she muttered.

"Wondering about...?" He turned, evidently looking for a safe place to deposit the slug. To Lysette's annoyance, he settled on her discarded vambrace.

"I just oiled those."

"Then you shouldn't leave them lying about in the garden," he said briskly. "I'm just giving you an incentive to take better care of your—_mmph_."

She tightened her grasp on his waist and smiled at him. "Perhaps you could take better care of your wife."

"I've got… slug… all over my hands," he said, but the timbre of his voice shifted even as he spoke.

"I don't want you to use your hands."

His eyes flickered. "Then you can take your own damn trousers off. I'm going to use the basin. Stay put, you—don't move an inch—"

She did move, but only to remove her trousers. It was a good idea. And then she settled dreamily onto her back.

The clouds drifted by overhead. It was properly spring by now, with bright green leaves unfurling everywhere and the fresh grass soft beneath her bare legs. There was a series of splashing sounds somewhere behind her, followed by a series of swearing sounds, and then Adan came back to her. He was shaking water off his hands.

"Right. Legs up."

Lysette snorted. "Romantic."

"I'm not here for romance," he said cheerfully as he lowered himself to the ground. "I'm here for… other things." To her disappointment, his words trailed off as his lips pressed against her inner thigh, nipped gently.

"Talk to me," she whispered. "Don't stop talking."

"Think I'll just do what you say?"

"Yes."

"Well. You might be right." He spread his fingers over her thighs and looked up at her. Just his breath and the irritation of his beard on delicate skin was enough to have her whole body clench, her toes curl, her breath come short. "You asked about slugs. As it happens, I do know—"

At Lysette's exasperated exhalation, Adan let out an admonishing hum.

"Different species have different reproductive strategies. Obviously." He lowered his head. One light flick, just the tip of his tongue, had her own head falling back on the grass. "But generally speaking"—a longer stroke, followed a moment later by deft fingers—"and overlooking the complexities of gender in invertebrate organisms—"

"Is this how you talk to your students?"

He glanced up from between her legs. "Not typically, no."

She shoved his head back down. And then stroked his shaved scalp, curling her fingers around his ears, while he studied her.

"Now," he said judiciously, "It's been a long time since I read about gastropod biology, but I recall they relied heavily on... olfactory and tactile feedback..." The pressure of his fingertips increased and then he'd slipped a finger inside, stroking slowly while she gasped. His voice was a little unsteady, but he continued. "They find a mate by following the trail of mucal secretions—"

"That's repulsive."

"Hmm." His hot exhale of breath had Lysette shifting her hips involuntarily. "Yeah. Quite rude. Then there's lots of..."

Adan's composure was starting to slip. He slid a second finger inside her and she shut her eyes, clenched her muscles, began to rock. "It's very... wet. They've been known to mate in a simultaneous reciprocal fashion..."

She managed to raise her head long enough to give him a speculative look.

"Focus, woman. I'm talking about science. I believe ingestion of secretions is considered to improve the odds of reproductive—Lysette?"

He was breathing fast, pupils dilated even in the bright afternoon sun, but he still had enough breath to laugh as she raised herself onto her elbows. Lysette didn't. She reached for the ties of his breeches and then she was sprawled over him, taking his cock in her mouth while he let out a grunt. He gripped her rear and put his own mouth to work; she sighed sharply through her nose.

Adan stayed his movements long enough to mumble, "Right. So. There's simultaneous... reciprocal... Maker, do I need to continue?"

"What?" she panted, turning to look back at him. Her mind had long since drifted elsewhere.

"Thought you wanted me to—"

"Stop _talking."_

—

The evening hours were upon them. They'd eaten their dinner and scrubbed the dishes. Adan had laid a fire in the wood stove while Lysette went out to feed the chickens. All the ordinary domestic rituals: still so new, still unexpected, but lovely. Adan was already scribbling at his writing desk when she came back inside, so Lysette took a seat on the settee without a word.

She leaned back against the cushion and gazed out the window, letting her mind wander. It was so quiet here at night. There was only a faint whispering of the leaves, the occasional hoot from an owl, the scratching of a pen across the room. She found it difficult to keep her eyes open.

But she looked up when Adan let out a soft curse. Not so unusual, that, but something about the tone drew her attention. 

"Adan?"

He waved her off and shifted positions, settling back into the chair.

"Nothing new. This rubbish spine of mine."

"I hope I didn't make it worse before," she said, concerned.

He snickered a little at that. "No."

"Good.” Lysette wasn’t sure she believed him, but she sat up and stretched. “I should go to bed. Early morning tomorrow. Oh, I forgot—you'll recognize the latest arrival at the sanctuary."

"Hm? Who’s that?”

"Mattrin—oh, stop making that face, I know. But Ellana said we wouldn't turn anyone away."

"How magnanimous of her." He was still making that face.

Lysette sighed. "I know he has flaws. But he helped me, more than once, and..."

"You don't—Maker, woman, you don't have to explain." Adan set down his pen on a page of formulae and turned sharp brown eyes her way. "Don't trust the brat as far as I can throw him, but I'd say the same for most of the templars down at your villa. Doesn't mean they don't deserve treatment if they want it."

"Thank you," she said, and meant it.

It was only a few minutes before they put out the lamps and made their way into the bedroom. Adan was still moving stiffly, she thought, watching him undress.

"Come here," she said.

He winced and turned away. "Lysette—"

"Did you take a healing potion?"

There was a brief pause before he admitted, "Yeah."

"But?"

"Just an elfroot tea, really. Not good to take the stronger stuff too often. Bad for the digestion… what are you looking for?" When he realized, he grimaced. "I don't need—"

Lysette shook the pot of liniment at him. "You're a worse patient than you are a healer," she informed him. "On the bed with you."

He glared at her but complied. He really was hurting. She rose onto her knees and straddled his waist, laying her palms against the warmth of his back.

Adan might not be a warrior, but his body had always delighted her. Stocky, sturdy, practical without an ounce of fuss. It seemed unfair of it to betray him and cause him pain when Lysette found it so entrancing.

She pulled at his tunic; he sat up briefly to toss it aside and settled back down with a contented-sounding murmur. Good. She moved her hands lightly over his skin, then with more pressure, loosening the taut muscles. He'd done it often enough for her after the strains of combat practice. She didn't return the favor often enough. A bittersweet realization.

"You're good at this," he mumbled.

"We used to do it for each other all the time," she said. "In the barracks."

"Now there’s an image. My wife and the likes of bloody Mattrin rubbing one another like—hmm. That's nice."

The glow of the fireplace was the only light in the room. She could feel the vibration of his voice under her fingers, the way his back rose and expanded when he breathed in. She lightened her touch, tracing her nails up his spine and up the back of his neck, and Adan let out a long exhale. He turned his head to the side and she bent to lay a light kiss on his cheek.

He had a tattoo, a bit faded but still visible on his left shoulder blade. From his time in Rivain–but the design didn't look Rivaini to Lysette. She'd seen it a thousand times, but it was only now she recognized those curling fern leaves as the same sort that grew all over Ferelden. He might have tried to leave his past behind him in those days, but he'd still chosen a plant from his homeland. And now he was back. Another pang in her chest, and Lysette found her vision starting to blur. Andraste forgive her, was she _weeping?_

She fought down the tears, fought not to be choked up, but it was a losing battle. She used the back of her hand to wipe her eyes, careful to avoid any of the tingling embrium.

"I love you," she whispered.

"What?" Adan must have heard something in her voice, because he looked up. "Lysette, what—"

"Nothing," she said firmly. "Lie down. I'm not done."

—

Lysette woke to see an alarmed face only inches from her own.

"What the—" She nearly lashed out at him, but her reflexes were dulled by sleep and hunger and his hands rested heavily on her shoulders. "Maker, Adan. What time is it?"

"Late. Late for you, at least. I thought you'd gone to the sanctuary hours since. Have you been in bed all this time?"

It seemed she had. Daylight streamed through the leaded glass windows. She stumbled to her feet and headed to the washbasin to rinse her mouth and splash water on her face.

She turned back to look at Adan. His arms were crossed and his brow was furrowed, giving him a rather menacing look, but Lysette recognized the worry on his face even before he spoke.

"What's the matter with you?"

She was wide awake now. Her heart fluttered oddly. She should tell him. She thought he'd be pleased—she _knew_ he'd be pleased, but… once she told him, things would be different forever.

"I was tired." She stepped back across the room, pulling the coverlet into place and sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Must be more than bloody tired if you'll admit it so easily. It's not been this bad since Skyhold." He paused, still staring down at her. "Has it?"

"I'm not sure it's the withdrawal."

"No?" Adan lowered himself to sit at her side. She saw the moment his face changed, eyes widening, and he lifted a hand to run over his head. "What—you're not—"

She was, actually.

They'd been on the road from Denerim when she'd stopped drinking the daily herb concoction that was the standard preventative for pregnancy. But with all the upheaval of travel and setting up the sanctuary, they'd only lain together a few times in recent weeks. Lysette had thought it unlikely anything would come of it, but... looking back, she'd missed at least one cycle. It had hardly registered at the time. Such things happened occasionally, especially during periods of stress or hard training, and she'd long since given up fretting over every late bleeding. But this one hasn't come at all.

"I'm fairly sure. Mother Giselle thinks so too. It's still early, it hasn't quickened, so we shouldn't—oh, Maker, don't cry—"

"Beg your pardon." Adan blinked rapidly and scrubbed the back of his hand over his eyes. "I'd never. Are you all right, my girl?"

"I think so." And the warmth that was spreading in her chest rivaled that of the sun streaming into the room. Fatigue be damned: she stirred herself to move closer to him. But his arms were already wrapping around her and tugging her, unnecessarily gently, against his chest.

Another day she'd remind him she wasn't made of glass. Some other day. But today, she let her head drop against his shoulder and shut her eyes as he held her close. And if anyone shed a tear or two—well, that was between them and their Maker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baby grump? Baby grump! 
> 
> (Also, anyone who comments "nice" will be responded to with revolting slug facts. You've been warned.)


	7. A Lonesome Choir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: talk of pregnancy, pregnancy loss.

From sky-tearing peaks of the sacred mountain  
To secret-steep'd roots of the ancient oak trees  
A lonesome choir, I, song failing unanswered,  
Voice on wind returning, answered no more.

_—Andraste 1:4 _

Spring bled into summer faster than Adan would have believed possible. The wind rustled the boughs of the beeches around the cottage in Hafter's Woods, secure and peaceful.

Adan was more content than he'd have imagined possible, too. This place felt... right. He had things to do, good and worthwhile things. His beautiful, terrifying wife was carrying their child. And he had a garden again.

So, naturally, he spent the morning in a high temper, alternately weeding and cursing at the nugs. The squeaky bastards had a way of fixating on the least appetizing-looking things and mowing them down to the root. The latest victim had been his carefully cultivated spindleweed.

"We're in the bloody Hinterlands," he growled at one deceptively innocent pink face. The creature had some nerve, twitching its whiskers at him like that. "I know for a fact there's a perfectly good patch of Maker-given wild stuff not a hundred yards from here. Why do you need to eat mine?"

The nug made a soft purring noise and hopped a few feet away. A single strand of spindleweed dangled from its mouth.

"Oh, for f–"

"Domestic troubles?" came a light voice behind his shoulder.

"—for fuck's sake," he concluded, deliberately, before turning around to face his interlocutor.

"Good morning to you, too." Ellana leaned on the gate and smiled. Faded tattoos unfurled over freckled skin in a complex lattice like the horns of the halla he knew they represented. She seemed more at ease here than he remembered her at Skyhold—and fair enough, too.

Adan gestured at the nugs. "I don't suppose you have a spell or something to keep these ravenous beasts away from my herbs."

"That sounds more like a situation for enchantment. Perhaps Dagna can look into it if your alchemical knowledge isn't up to the task."

"There's no call to be rude, my lady." Not even the barking and yipping of the juvenile fennecs seemed to deter the nugs. _Hm._ Maybe a cat would do the job.

"I think I preferred 'Your Worship' to 'my lady'."

"Mistress Rutherford?"

"Creators, no."

He sat back from the spindleweed and flexed his wrists. "What brings you out this way, then?"

"It's not urgent. But if you can spare the time from your garden, could you meet me at the villa later?"

* * *

The rushing of the waterfall filled the small tower room in the long silences between retching.

"This again, eh?" said the man in the bed, when his stomach had stilled for the time being. His complexion was sallow and a thin sheen of sweat highlighted the new lines in his forehead. Hollow cheeks, purple shadows under pale eyes... Mattrin was usually a handsome enough fellow—at least until he opened his mouth—but these days he looked ghastly. Lysette found it an all too familiar sight.

"And here I thought I'd escaped a shitty death from lyrium withdrawal in a shitty fucking keep in Ferelden," he rasped. Evidently Mattrin's thoughts were aligned with hers. “Should have known."

"At least the food is better this time."

"I don't know. I got used to a diet of goat jerky."

There was a long silence. Lysette tried not to breathe too deeply. The room was musty and the day was humid, and the open window did little to clear the stench of sickness. She was only just regaining her own stomach after the first weeks of pregnancy.

"They're all gone, you know that?" Mattrin rubbed his face wearily. "It's just us."

"I know."

There were templars from all over Thedas at the sanctuary. Some of them were familiar from the Inquisition. None of them were the people she'd grown up with, trained with, fought beside after the Breach. None except Mattrin.

"They do say the Maker has a sense of humor," she said.

"Well, if he does, it's bollocks." He sighed. "Too bad we couldn't join the new Seekers, eh?"

Lysette uncrossed her legs and rose to her feet. "Her Holiness asked me to. But it didn't feel right."

"What, you're serious? You turned it down?" Mattrin let out a croaking laugh. "Fucking typical."

"What do you mean?"

"I all but begged her on my knees and she turned me down flat." His eyes followed Lysette as she crossed the small room to open the window wider. When she looked back, the narrow beam of afternoon sunlight caught his eyes and made them a brighter blue. Almost a lyrium blue. "Hey. Lysette. Wait, are you—"

Those blue eyes were, of course, fixed on her abdomen. She grimaced but nodded. Little point in denying what was becoming obvious.

"Holy fuck," said Mattrin, then dropped his head back on the pillow and laughed. "Who'd have thought? Is it that—what's the bastard's name—"

"Adan." She spoke a little more sharply than was warranted. "I married the bastard, Mattrin. Years ago. And you've seen him twice this week. You don't remember?"

Mattrin's eyes had gone a little cloudy, and panic rose in her throat. Maker, he was younger than she was. It couldn't be—

"As if I keep track of who you're bedding."

Lysette brushed aside the barb. "I'm serious. Are you forgetting things?"

"Would I remember if I was?"

Lysette sat back down in the uncomfortable wooden chair with a sigh. "Yes. At first."

"Shit." Mattrin shook his head slowly. "You really did manage it, then. Getting off lyrium."

"I did, yes. And so will you."

Mattrin grunted. There was another long pause before he finally whispered, his voice sounding far younger than he looked, "Does it ever stop?"

She knew he didn't mean the physical symptoms. He meant the yearning for that song, for that sense of connection to something wise and ancient and larger than yourself. A connection that felt more right than any other, even if you knew it wasn't.

Lysette couldn’t tell him if the yearning ever stopped. And that was probably enough of an answer for the man peering wearily up at her from the bed.

"You're going to be all right, Mattrin," was all she said. “Maker willing.”

"I suppose we'll see whether you’re right about that sense of humor."

* * *

"Villa" was a misnomer. The place was a bloody fortress.

Adan studied it idly as he crossed the footbridge. The central keep was topped by a pleasure suite. Airy walkways connecting the four towers—two squat and two taller. Fortunately for his knees, the surfeit of stairs was alleviated by sloping paths around the back.

On this particular occasion, though, he went in the front gate. The open courtyard was reminiscent of old Tevinter. It was also pleasantly cool, shaded, and completely empty. But Ellana had to be around here somewhere. Adan made his way to the stairs.

However much folderol the Guerrins had piled on top, the bones of this place were those of a defensive structure. There were still battered old trebuchets mounted on each of the towers. No doubt the villa's current residents appreciated the martial atmosphere. He could see some of those residents as he climbed: Cullen, leading exercises once again. At this distance, over the rushing waterfalls, Adan couldn't hear any of the usual shouting and clanking from the training grounds.

Ellana was on the veranda waiting for him. She'd set up a small writing desk out here, overlooking the river valley below. The birds called cheerfully, a wind from the western hills rustled the branches of the trees and the scent of pine filled the upper courtyard. It all created a rather soothing environment. Even that incongruous Alamarri statue was doing her screaming in silence.

She turned at his approach. "Ah, Adan."

"Yeah. What did you want me for? Patient?"

"All the residents are stable right now, actually. It's something else. This way."

Adan managed to hold back a complaint about the stairs as they made their way back down the way he’d come, out through the front gate. But instead of descending the gentle slope to the footbridge, Ellana turned right and up a small hillock just under the main tower. They’d been standing just above this spot a few minutes ago.

But he hadn’t noticed the path before, let alone the fact that someone had cleared a small area of ground in the shrubbery. There was also a small cairn of local stone. It looked to have been recent work. Ellana bent over to study the soil.

Puzzled, Adan peered over her shoulder at the plot. “A little out of season to start planting now, Lavellan. Unless you’re thinking bulbs for the spring, but—"

“Oh, I know.” She straightened. “But I had to clear the ground anyway for the cairn, and I’ll want to put something here eventually. I’d like your recommendations on that, actually. But that’s not the primary reason I asked you to come here.”

“Which is...?”

He had never known the Inquisitor to be evasive, but she was certainly dodging the question now.

“Well,” she said, unhelpfully, “I know you’re not—I just wanted some advice, you see. There aren't any other elves here.”

He blinked.

“Ah... will there be?”

“I don't know. I've made it clear that any of my clan who wish to join me here are welcome. It's hard to imagine any of them taking me up on it. Clan Lavellan lost a lot of people in the war. Although before that, we were more... open than most Dalish."

"I know. I met some of them while I was in the Marches, ages back."

Ellana met his eyes for the first time since they’d come to the clearing. "Maybe you met me," she said, lightly enough. “But even if you had been... well... I’m sorry to say we looked down a bit on city elves. Unfortunately."

"I know that, too."

"You're from an alienage. What happens there when someone dies?"

Adan shifted his weight. He still didn’t know exactly where she was going with this, but he was beginning to get an inkling. "Well. A pyre, same as most places. They bring in a Chantry Mother to say her piece. After she leaves, folk gather around the vhenadahl. The hahren usually says a few words as well—prayers, that sort of thing. Nothing the Chantry would frown upon. Depending who died"—and how tight things were in the district that year—"there might be some festivities in remembrance. Is that the sort of thing you mean?”

She was nodding as he spoke. “Yes. Thank you. You probably know the Dalish don’t burn our dead. We’d bury them, and plant something in the earth in their memory. If that wasn't possible, we'd build one of these." She gestured at the small cairn. "And then there would be a blessing of their name. But I don't know…"

Ellana picked up the top rock from the cairn and Adan blinked. It wasn't a rock at all, but a skull—human. Or perhaps elven. They were difficult to distinguish after death. But as she turned over the bleached bone in her hands, he realized exactly what kind of skull it was.

He took a step back. "Oh."

"There was an ocularum here," she explained. "I took it apart."

Adan had seen death aplenty. He’d seen deaths that were no one’s fault and deaths he thought were mercies. But deliberate cruelty was was something else. That poor bastard whose bones she held in her hand—the owner of that skull had died knowing exactly what was happening to them and why. Terrified.

Ellana's face was somber. "There are so many of them. All over Thedas. I can’t bury them all—and even if I could, I know they're not all elven. But they were people, and they were mages once. I don't know what customs I should… but…" She looked up at Adan again. "I want to remember them. To honor them as the Creators would want. I'd appreciate your thoughts."

He shifted uncomfortably. "You want to set up some sort of... memorial? That seems an honorable thing to do. But do you believe all that? The Dalish gods?"

"I don't know what I believe." Ellana held out her left arm, indicating the shortened sleeve. "After all this? I begin to think the truth is that none of us have the full picture—not the Dalish, not the Chasind"—she waved broadly over the Fereldan landscape—"and certainly not the Andrastians." She shot him a rueful look. "Don't tell Cullen I said so."

"Cullen or anyone else. Can't throw a rock without hitting an Andrastian over here."

"Do _you_ believe, Adan?"

"Can't say I think about it much." At least he tried not to. "You know. Lysette does, of course."

"Is Lysette well? I’m sorry. I should have asked before."

"Oh, she's fine. You know she's expecting?" he said, feeling oddly uncertain of the syllables. He hadn't said it out loud before. He'd only just written to his mother a week or so back.

"She—oh, that's wonderful." Ellana's brow furrowed. "That is—it's wonderful, yes?"

"Yeah," he said, fighting back a grin. It took a moment to notice Ellana had turned away and was busying herself tidying the cairn.

Adan was not an especially sensitive man, by most measures, but he'd lived in the world a while. "Should I, ah, not have brought it up?"

"It's fine," she said, and if she'd only been the Inquisitor and not a friend, he might have believed it. "We—I–" She gestured at her waist. "It didn't work out," she said in a muted voice. "Next time, perhaps."

"That's a pity. I'm sorry." Adan swallowed the surge of sudden, selfish panic—shoved aside the mental image of Lysette's face falling like that—and focused on Ellana's half-averted profile. "You all right? You'll have spoken to Giselle, I take it?"

"Oh, yes. She gave me a potion." Ellana smiled, but there was little behind it. "There was no need to bother you. I know you're not fond of Cullen, and..."

"Blast it." Adan sighed. "Didn't mean it like that. Look—if there's anything you need, don't worry about it. With that, or with this memorial of yours. Any time."

Ellana gripped her left arm in her right hand—the closest she could come to crossing her arms, he supposed—and nodded without meeting his eyes.

A depressing afternoon, all in all.

—

Adan waited until Lysette was done her daily work so that they could walk back to the cottage together. They supped at the villa, but days were long this time of year; the shadows had only just begun to lengthen through the boughs of Hafter's Woods by the time they reached their home.

Adan's hand paused on the latch of the garden gate. The Arl of Breadcliffe—stupid bloody name, but Lysette was delighted with her own wit—was strutting across the path as if he owned the place, but what caught Adan’s eye was the cloth-wrapped bundle sitting on the front step.

"What's this?"

Lysette had already slipped past him and bent to examine it.

"It's from Denerim," she said. "Your cousin. The courier must have dropped it off while we were at the villa. Bring it inside, will you? I've got to use the privy."

"What, again?"

She ignored him and made her way down the path to said privy. Adan tucked the bundle under one arm, unlocked the door, and went in.

He kicked off his boots and made his way to the bedroom, depositing the bundle on the pine chest that stood at the foot of the bed. There was a new addition to the furnishings: a cradle sat in the corner, a rough-hewn thing from the farm up the way, waiting patiently for its future occupant. Adan wasn’t superstitious, exactly, but he tapped it with a finger as he passed. Then he sat on the edge of the bed to open his letter.

The front door of the cottage creaked as he cracked open the seal. Lysette joined him in the bedroom a moment later, loosening her hair from its tight knot. "What does your cousin say?" she asked. She was studying the bundle with interest.

"He says my mother sent you something of—oh, Maker." He looked up from the letter to see Lysette already unwrapping the cloth and shaking out its contents.

She turned to him, eyes dancing, and held the tiny embroidered garment in the air between them. "Yours?”

“Must be.” The style of decoration was familiar to Adan, though the thing had to be decades old.

“It's so little."

"Infants are, I'm told." He tried not to scowl.

"Were you born with that beard?"

"Give me that bloody—"

Lysette easily evaded his grasp. She was still more agile than he was, which seemed unfair. But she sobered as she spread the gown out on the bed.

"This is lovely. Did she make it herself?"

"She must have." Adan stepped forward to examine the fine cloth. The colors were a little faded, but the fabric was unstained and had a whiff of herbs. "She wasn't—well, her family and everyone were right arseholes when she left the alienage to marry my father. Doubt they'd have bothered."

"Because he was human?"

"Not just human. He was a city guard at a... ah, a difficult time for the elves. She never talked about it to me. But I heard enough, growing up there, to piece together most of the story." Adan shook his head and dropped the corner of the gown. The Orlesian occupation had lasted for generations, and the alienage had seen the worst of its effects.

"She told me some things."

Adan blinked. "She did?"

“Yes. She said…” Lysette paused, but her eyes looked up and bored into his. “She said she had no regrets. She wouldn't have given up the life she had with your father. Or you.”

“For my mother, that’s remarkably sentimental.”

“Explains where you get it from.” Lysette covered her mouth to stifle a yawn.

He bent and kissed the top of her head. “You all right, my girl?”

"I’m well enough. But I wish people would stop asking me that," she said discontentedly. "I feel like a bloody broodmare. My body keeps doing new things, Adan. I don't know what to expect."

"A baby, one hopes."

"Ugh." She rolled her eyes up at him. "I don't like it."

"Anything I can do?"

She shook her head but didn't protest when Adan slid his fingers down her neck to rub her shoulders. "I suppose it's not too bad. But I'm too bloody impatient."

"You've a fair way to go yet, my girl."

"Maker." Lysette flopped onto her back and groaned. “I know. It's hardly quickened and I'm ready to be done with it. I can’t imagine why anyone would do this more than once.”

Adan felt an unexpected pang of sympathy for, of all people, Cullen Rutherford. And he found that his hands shook a little while he folded the gown and laid it inside the cradle.

Embarrassing. There was no sense in fussing, even if Lysette would have allowed it. 

"You'd think I'm the one carrying a babe," he muttered.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Nothing. Tell me, how do you feel about cats?" 

"Aren't they dangerous for a child?"

"Superstitious twaddle," he said briskly. "Besides, you owe me for the chickens." 

**Author's Note:**

> Have been making rather a lot of fic-related art lately. [Check it out if you're interested.](https://www.deviantart.com/dalish-ish/gallery/68402493/see-fire-and-go-towards-light)
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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